The Lord of the Rings: The Two Flowers
by Tolkien FanFicWriter
Summary: After being unceremoniously thrown into Middle-Earth into the body of an unwilling elf, Alex Forths must survive through her foolish decisions and rise above what she believes she can do. Sequel to "Fellowship of the Bling"-(Ch.'s 2-11). Movieverse/Bookverse. Fixed earlier chapters. Future romance.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Disclaimer:This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only:I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.

I also do not own the movie or book Wuthering Heights, which is mentioned in this chapter.

I also do not own The Hobbit, movie or book, or its contents, which are briefly mentioned in this chapter.

* * *

Prologue

I sat in my car, flipping through my book, The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien. I was ready to go into the theater to watch Wuthering Heights, but just had to look at the ink on paper once more, reading aloud to myself.

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit."

I skimmed over the description of the hobbit hole, wondering at how Peter Jackson had done so well in bringing an epic to the modern world of only men. Sometimes, I often wondered if we were in a fifth age of Middle-Earth, where men were dominant and all other races forgotten. But, if that were true, then the race of men would've diminished greatly from the power it had with the Dunedain, Gondorians, and Rohirrim. I chuckled as I put the book down next to the Lord of the Rings books I kept with me wherever I went. I opened the door, looked back, and put The Return of the King in my purse. Why, I would never know. After all, I knew the books nearly word for word.

A summer breeze passed through the red leaves hanging on the trees, their vibrant colors not meant to last for long. Stores had huge sales, wanting to sell their Halloween wares before the day of costumes and candy and children running about would come.

As I locked my car, I adjusted my long, soft, dark green coat. Blond hair flew in my blue eyes, and I hastily tied it back. I hated my hair. It was too long, reaching down to reach halfway down my back. I made a note on my Blackberry-make hair appointment. If a barber didn't cut it soon, my kitchen scissors would.

I strolled into the theater, its popcorn scents washing away any trace of fresh and crisp autumn air. I went to buy a ticket and went straight to the theater. Theater 9. I smiled to myself, thinking of the nine walkers. The Nazgul came to mind as well, but I pushed the thought of vile wraiths away.

Previews were playing, so I plugged earphones into my phone and listened to "The Lord of the Rings" soundtrack, thinking of the time when I could also own "The Hobbit" soundtrack impatiently. I opened the book I had earlier stored in my purse, flipped to the destroying of the Ring. Gollum, in his joy in taking the Ring from Frodo, had carelessly danced over the edge inside the fiery Mt. Doom. I pitied the poor guy, always being twisted and corrupted by the Ring. I reached for a bookmark, not daring to doggy-ear the pages of a book, when the scent of parchment overcame the smells of a theater and as the movie began, I felt myself being drawn away, and in the empty theater of only me, I was swept away.


	2. The Council of Agent Smith

Author's Note:Right. So. Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter, or rather, the Prologue. Loads of thanks to my first reviewer(EVER!), **Theta-McBride**. Finally finished this monster of a chapter. Disclaimer is at the bottom. READ IT!

I will not ask you to review as many stories on here do, but...please do. ;) It makes me feel happy. Hope this story makes you happy, too.

_Elvish: Mae g'ovannen=Well met_

_Mellon-nin=My friend_

_Posto vae=Rest well_

_Abarad=Until tomorrow_

_Gi nathlam hí=You are welcome here_

* * *

Chapter 1: The Council of Agent Smith

I woke with a bright light shining in my eyes. "Five more minutes..." I mumbled as a figure walked into the room. A song of peace was in the air, carrying me to thoughts of a green rolling land where no harm befell its inhabitants. I realized this song that surrounded me was Elvish, since I had painstakingly learned Sindarin a couple of years back during my first several college years for fun. I sat up straight in the white soft bed, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, my coat resting on a chair nearby. The room had no lack of light and vine-wrapped pillars could be seen outside. It matched the book's description perfectly:I was in Rivendell. Peter Jackson had done a beautiful and quite accurate job in his movie.

"_Mae g'ovannen_. I am glad to see you are awake. You have been sleeping for nigh upon three days," said a tall figure with a long, grey beard and matching robe and hat. I gulped at his kindly and wizened face. Strange that Gandalf looked so much like Ian McKellen.

"Where-what happened?" Maybe I was being punked. Yeah, sure, in the land of gumdrops and butterflies. I didn't think my friends, the only ones who would do this, were good at acting at all. Except, maybe, drunk.

"You, lady elf, were found in the woods not far from the Ford of Bruinen, in strange clothes and with your weapons nearby," Sure enough, I looked over and saw a sword, long curved knife, and bow and arrows, all of elven make. "but Arwen, who found you, recognized you as one of the Marchwardens of Lothlorien, and so brought you here, to Rivendell. You are Merilieth, correct?" I blinked, processing what was said. I apparently was known to them. I had to act like so, processing the knowledge quickly.

"Mithrandir. I do not know what happened, but...yes. I believe so," trying to put an Elvish lilt on my words. It sounded like a Mucinex was needed, and I stopped trying to sound Elvish.

"Ah. Very well then. I have pressing business to attend to. You may not know, as it was rather hastily planned, but there is a council that addresses the future of Middle-Earth. You may attend if you wish. The council shall start soon. _Posto vae_," said the wizard before leaving. He shut the door behind him, and I started to hyperventilate and talk to myself.

"Obviously, I was sent here for a purpose. But-why? All I know of fighting is stuff from the Renaissance fair. Oh god. The council." Realization of the magnitude of it all dawned upon me. Just a dream. Just a dream. An elven maiden came in and helped me dress into a long, sweeping green dress that was tight at the chest and free below. I looked into the mirror. I used to be Alex Forths, a nerdy tomboy with no life outside of college except for Marching Band, a tall, awkward saxophone player with her cynical head always down to Earth-except of course when reading a book. Now I was an elf, a fighting _elleth_ who had no freaking clue what was going on except that someone must have been smoking something somewhere in the theater, and my unconscious mind processed it poorly.

I was led to the open courtyard where the council would be held. All I knew was that this was a dream. But-I never fell asleep during movies. Previews, though...

Elves, dwarves, and men alike streamed into the clearing, and I spotted Gloin, Gimli, Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir, Frodo, and Gandalf, along with other unnamed dwarves, men, and elves. All just like their actor counterparts. Well, whaddya know.

Legolas sat besides me. He greeted me as a friend in Elvish, and I played along, trying to keep my normal monotone face and voice, bewildered. It was all I could do to not fangirl when Elrond spoke, Hugo Weaving-like face making me want to say Mr. Anderson after every phrase. Great.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." Mr. Anderson.

"Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall." Mr. Anderson.

"Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." A pause. Mr. Anderson. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." Bring forth the Ring, Mr. Anderson.

The small hobbit slowly walked forward from his seat, and put the Ring on the pedestal standing in the middle. Poor little guy, I thought. Seventeen years with the Ring in the back of your mind must make you reluctant to part from something so influential and evil. I frowned as all looked at the Ring. Dude, I could hear whispering in my head. Holy Toledo.

"So it is true," Boromir spoke, a man of Gondor I had taken great interest in, learning and discovering his character so I would not hate him as so many did. All he wanted was for the end of Gondor's hardship. Frodo sat down opposite the man, sighing and closing his eyes. "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay," By the blood of your people, I thought, are our lands kept safe. "By the blood of our people, are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him."

"You can not wield it. None of us can." I wanted to take Aragorn's lines, but knew that this moment created a first impression. I was going to be nice and unchallenging to the man who would be corrupted by the Ring. The Ring knew that this man, if he took the Ring, would bring it back to its master, indirectly of course. Its powers were trying to influence him more than any other. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

"And what, would a Ranger know of this matter?" Heck, all _I_ knew for sure now, in this kooky dream, was that things were about to get heavy and fast. Not that they weren't heavy before, but...

"This is no mere Ranger," said the (cute) blonde elf next to me, standing up. "This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn," said Boromir, disbelieving, "This is Isildur's heir?" Dude. Not cool. Don't be high and mighty. No one likes that stuff.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Told.

"Havo dad, Legolas," said Aragorn, being humble.

"Gondor has no king," said Boromir, looking at Legolas somewhat spitefully. "Gondor needs no king." He sat down, disgruntled.

"Aragorn is right. We cannot use it," said Gandalf, trying and failing to somewhat diffuse the tension.

Agent Smith, rather, Elrond, stood. "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed." The Ring, sensing its danger, let forth a whisper. Frodo looked grim.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Gimli stood and struck the Ring. However, its force shattered its axe and repelled him backwards. I noticed Frodo hold his head, in pain, mental or physical, I didn't know. What I did know was that this ring was seriously bad voodoo. Duh. But something about seeing it impact these people face to face was not like the movie. The Ring growled in Black Speech.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess," said Elrond. No dip, Sherlock. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom," Only there can it be unmade, I thought. "Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor, and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came," The Ring must've been having a panic attack. "One of you must do this." Silence.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir took a deep breath, exasperated. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly." Cheery.

I decided to speak up. Adrenaline buzzed through my fangirly veins. "To go into Mordor by way of the Black Gates is folly, yes. But if we went by another way..." I caught Gandalf glancing at me out of the corner of my eye.

"Regardless of the path, the Ring must be destroyed," said tall, blonde, and handsome. Legolas, that is. Not Eowyn or Galadriel or any other blonde females. I tried not to smile.

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" Gimli growled.

"And if we fail? What then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?" Captain Smiley of Minas Tirith strikes again, I thought to myself, wondering if the guy had a light side. I knew he did; however, now wasn't the lightest moment in Tolkien's world.

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" Gloin stood to back up his son, and Legolas held the elves back, arms spread wide. I always wanted to touch that robe. It looked velvety, what could I say?

Discord and argument spread. "Never trust an elf!" Gimli really needed some trust falls with Legolas or something. Gandalf joined the fray, hoping to speak sense into the horde. I sat there, trying not to laugh at all of them, or rather Gimli's behaviour. The movies made it seem like the Ring caused the representatives of the races of Middle-Earth to fight and be riled so easily. I believed it, for it was the truth, really never more clear in my eyes than now.

"I will take it." said Frodo, not heard but for those who were paying attention, like me. "I will take it." The courtyard silenced in response to the lone hobbit's voice, made powerful by its words. I stood, knowing I couldn't skip out on this quest. Better to have a good, exciting dream than one just lounging about. "I will take the Ring to Mordor." Gandalf and the others stared at Frodo, and Gandalf held an air of resigned sadness about him. "Although, I do not know the way."

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." said Gandalf.

The heir of Isildur spoke. "If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." Aragorn walked over to kneel before the hobbit. "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," said Legolas.

"And my axe," said Gimli, not to be undone by an elf.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done." Boromir was himself. I stepped forward.

"The blades of a Marchwarden are drawn for your protection." I knelt before Frodo amongst disagreeing whispers. He nodded, and I smiled kindly, and moved to stand besides Legolas, who nodded at me. I was surprised, for from all of the fanfiction I read, Boromir would've been at my throat by now. Well, no matter what anyone thought, I would not be a bad fellowship-member. If I could fight. Crap. What I just did was not something I would've done in real life. YOLO?!

"Here! Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" said Sam, who had been hiding behind some bushes. The gentle gardener loyally came by Frodo's side.

"No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." Elrond said, amused, his expressive eyebrows dancing around his forehead.

"Oy! We're coming too!" exclaimed Merry as he and Pippin, friends and relations of Frodo, appeared from behind two pillars and skittered past Elrond. Poor elf was bewildered. "You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us."

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence of this sort of mission...quest...thing." Pippin was adorable. I rolled my eyes and smiled.

"Well that rules you out, Pip." Ah, Merry.

"Ten companions. So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring." Oh dear. Not ten companions. ARGH. I just had to be a tenth walker. Grr.

"Right," said the youngest and most lighthearted of the hobbits, Pippin. "Where are we going?"

* * *

Once the council was over, I strode quickly back to my room to compose myself. I closed the intricately carved door behind me and freaked, hyperventilating, and throwing a pillow across the room.

"This dream _PWNS_!" I whispered to myself, thinking of an inside college Quiz Bowl joke. If only I had paid more attention in horseback riding and fencing when I was younger, and not nerdy things. A knock on my door, a jolt and I composed myself.

"Merilieth, may I come in?" Legolas' voice came through the door.

I called, "_Gi nathlam hí_!" in the best Elvish I could. It was too formal. Maybe this Merilieth chick was very withdrawn, like me? I goddamn hoped so. I also couldn't act, like my friends.

Legolas entered to find me sitting calmly on my bed. Inside, I was a volcano. An active one, not a dormant one. My emotions, however, did not find their way to my slightly smiling mask.

"_Mae g'ovannen_, _mellon-nin_," Legolas began, closing the door behind him. I returned the greeting properly, straining to remember Sindarin. We spoke in elvish, which made me want to jump off of Orthanc. I couldn't slip up. Great. Just...great. I hated conjugation never more than when in the Elvish language.

"You are well?"

"Yes, Legolas. And you?"

"Yes."

Determined to not be awkward, I asked if we could spar later. "For it has been a long time since the need to fight was brought upon me." Like, never. Psht. Same thing.

"I would be delighted. Perhaps tomorrow? Now, let us join the feasting and merrymaking of Imladris," Legolas said, offering his elbow. I linked my arm around his and we set off in search of the dining hall.

We strolled along calmly, and I used the silence to assess the situation:

1)I was an elf.

2)I needed to get used to being an elf.

3)I had no idea on how to fight anything but straw dummies.

4)I had to learn how to fight well, and quickly, too. Preferably before leaving Rivendell.

5)I couldn't change the story. (Boromir's and Theoden's deaths included, at which I always cried like a baby at)

6)I had to wake up and finish watching my twenty dollar movie. College kids are poor, what can I say?

7)I had to finish my paper on bio-chemical inter-molecular forces, assigned by the most hated teacher for chemistry majors...

I decided the last one could wait. When I woke up, I was _so_ writing this down somewhere.

Legolas and I came across Arwen Undomiel in the halls, daughter of Elrond and the elf who found me in the woods near Bruinen. I suppressed a moan as she spoke merrily in Elvish.

"Ah, friends. I had been looking for you, especially you, Merilieth. How do you fare? And, I see you have changed out of those odd clothes you wore. They were horrible on your frame," As Alex the Human Woman, I would've blushed and asked what was wrong with the innocent t-shirt and skinny jeans. Then again, as a human, I was stick-thin, nearly anorexic-looking. Though, I ate like a dwarf. Stupid tall-person metabolism. Now I was more filled out. Thank goodness too.

"I am well, thanks to you," I struggled to find the next words, and hid it with a warm smile,"and thank goodness for dresses." I hated dresses. "Though, I would need to borrow leggings and a tunic for our journey."

"Ah. Yes of course, dear friend," Arwen turned to Legolas, "Now, if only we could get Estel to ask for new, clean, clothes." Elven laughter of chimes, bells and pure joy rang out, and put my quiet, awkward and out of place laugh to shame. Thank goodness I was what Tolkien would describe as, "grim". Not much laughter from me to blow my cover!

We entered the feasting hall shortly, and Legolas sat with me as Arwen went off to join her father. I piled food onto my plate, but sadly not meat. I couldn't seem un-elven.

"Hungry? You usually do not eat as much," Legolas commented (in the Common Tongue, which I understood and spoke like English, thank goodness) as I got ahold of some mushrooms from near him. Obviously, the elf I was did not eat much.

"Legolas, I have been asleep for three days. Would you be hungry? I deem so," and cheese found its way onto my nearly-full plate. The blonde raised an eyebrow, amused, smirked, and ate some iceberg lettuce. Not very nutritional. I grabbed for the leg of a chicken (hopefully chicken) and bit ferociously.

Gimli and Gloin, who sat nearby, were telling of the quest to take back Erebor. Their biased interpretations of the quest as opposed to Bilbo's view(told in The Hobbit) were interesting, and made me wonder at being an elf. Why not a woman of the race of men? Surely, as an elf, my story was more believable, or something of the sort. Or the Valar wanted to screw me over. Definitely option number 2.

The dwarves' tale entertained the hobbits Merry and Pippin and made them laugh. When Gimli started telling of his mighty deeds with his axe and many countless orc and goblin necks, they were purely to entertain. But, as I noticed with an "I knew it" look in my eyes, Boromir's tales were full of his deeds and his effort to impress, but this was something Boromir had drilled into himself as a child and forever more:impress Father, Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, and he will accept you. The Steward's expectations had put too much weight on Boromir's brother, Faramir, and had lowered Faramir in the Steward's eyes. As I knew all too well, Denethor's judgement would forever change not only Faramir's fate, but Boromir's, his own, and quite possible all of Middle-Earth's, for maybe if he wasn't such an old cod, The Battle of the Pelennor Fields may never have happened. "May never happen," I reminded myself sadly in the future tense, all too easily forgetting that I was in Middle-Earth in this wonderful and unreal, yet oddly...real dream.

My attention swerved back to Legolas.

He was eyeing everyone's favorite dwarf of the Fellowship suspiciously and with distaste. Pretending not to notice, I sat down. His eyes snapped towards my face as I spoke, and he relaxed, tense before with a grudge thousands of years old.

"_Mellon-nin_, what is wrong?" Legolas sat, dumbfounded, confused at my question.

"Nothing. Why?" He glanced at Gimli once more. He continued quietly so that only we could hear. "'Tis a shame that the dwarf is coming along. Who knows how long this journey will go on, and we should be stuck with him all the way."

"Now, Legolas," I replied in the same volume of voice, "Do not underestimate his axe, nor his stoutness of heart. There will be many a countless time when that axe may save you."

"Merilieth! Since when do you defend dwarves?" Legolas looked at me in shock.

"I," I looked at Legolas and gave him a scorching glare. If "Merilieth" didn't like dwarves, then I had to make a good excuse for acting wonky. "do think respect should be afforded to all members of the Company. After all, we shall be travelling with them for many weeks to come."

Legolas smiled warmly at me, and though I had always somewhat fancied Eomer, my insides turned to goo of the jello kind. Our whispers were put behind us, though they rested in my mind. Anything I said wrong could change the story entirely...

I was wearing the boots that were on my feet when I was awake in the theater: they were somewhat elegant, creased in the trendy way, dark-green boots that reached up to my ankles, and looked somewhat elven even, though their material was somewhat worn, yet soft and durable. It was in these familiar objects that I felt a unsmooth and hard lump against the arch of my foot.I reached down, and tried to inconspicuously retrieve it from my right shoe.

I opened my palm under the table, and was surprised to find a ring, a _mithril_ ring, judging from what I knew of _mithril_, with a forest-green diamond resting in an elegantly formed holder, which resembled a small snowflake, the gem resting inside. The band wound intricately and formed shapes that looked like leaves. Legolas looked over at me and I closed my hand and quickly pretended to be observing my fingernails. Once he turned to talk to Elrond's sons, Elrohir and Elladan, my hand opened and I observed the ring once more.

I slipped it onto the third finger of my right hand. Suddenly, I was aware of the magic in the air, and a little stream of magic colored like my gem wove through the air. No one else seemed to notice, and it followed wherever my attention went.

"A magic ring?" I thought to myself, amazed and bothered. I directed, with much difficulty, the green stream to wind around my wrist, and bid it be raised up. My wrist moved up, not of its own accord, and I was awed.

I tried to hide my confusion, and simply couldn't. Legolas, who had finished his conversation, put a hand on my shoulder. I quickly forgot my ring as Legolas' eyes bore into mine, and my vision blurred in pure paranoia.

"_Mellon-nin_, what, pray tell, is wrong? You have been acting strangely since you have woken. It is as if you have changed greatly. Your voice is not the same. Has anything happened?" Legolas said, his face one of concern. So this elf knew. The fact that I had no explanation in my mind was shown on my face and Legolas became suspicious in his concerned stare. Uh.

"There is nothing wrong, Legolas. I am not the youngest or most sheltered or innocent of elves, and so have seen many things that are in the world and..." I paused and sighed.

The diversion worked and Legolas turned away. I hoped I did not have to tell him the truth before I woke up. This, though, was a strangely long dream. I usually had dreams that were not this clear, nor long, and definitely not as focused. I dreamed of different things at once, like the ultimate fanfiction crossover. You would think Heathcliff and Cathy would appear due to the movie I was watching. But that didn't happen. And why the heck was everything happening so realistically?

Soon, all retired to the Hall of Fire. Poems and songs came in Elvish to reach my more-sensitive ears. Nervous about singing, I excused myself.

"Do you not wish to come and listen and relax with Elvish art?" Legolas asked, glancing towards the majority of people going to the Hall.

"No. I need a walk in fresh air. Besides, the amount of wine I have consumed is not enough for me to be tired. _Abarad_," I bid Legolas a farewell.

My feet carried me outside as my blonde companion joined the merrymaking of his friends and kin. I spotted in the distance pipe-smoke from someone smoking. "A man or a dwarf," I thought, since all of the hobbits had gone to the Hall of Fire.

I was right. It was Gimli, son of Gloin. "Better to get to know him now, and not have him all annoyed with me on the Quest," said the dumber part of my brain, and I approached him with a smile, planning out what to say, so I would sound like a stranger elf and not a slang-using human who knew everything about him.

"Hello, Master Dwarf," I sat down besides him, and he stared at me with his pipe askew and his jaw hanging down to the ground. After all, why would an _elleth_ talk to a dwarf? An awkward silence proceeded as the dwarf's eyes narrowed and he puffed furiously on his pipe, still staring at me. I stared back, smiling and trying not to break out in laughter. The smoke was a comforting smell, one of home and hearth.

"And how are you this fine night, Lady Elf?" Gimli asked, regaining his dwarven poise and seriously not helping the fact that my stomach was hurting from keeping back laughter.

"It is a fine night. I am well. How are you, faring amongst us pointy-eared elves, with our baths and our embroidered clothes?" Gimli snorted, and I swore smoke came out.

The red-haired and rubicund dwarf struggled to find his next words, and I think gave up on diplomacy. "You pointy-eared elves put too much emphasis on looks."

I broke then, and bellowed out a loud, unelven-like, heck, un_lady_-like laugh that made Gimli jump.

"Yes, Master Dwarf, but you have not seen me in the morning. My hair alone would fell a dragon!" I said, laughter, amusement, and cheer in a relatively loud voice: _so_ not elven-like. Oh, why did I ever, ever decide to talk to such a humorous character as the son of Gloin? Maybe I _did_ have too much wine? Or maybe the stress of being a human in an elven body. Whatever the reason behind my outburst, I couldn't stop shaking with laughter afterwards. Man, this dream sure was getting to me.

We sat there, and it seemed to me, that after a long night of passive-faced and relatively emotionless elves, to see one lose her composure must've endeared him to me. Good. Now both he and I could tease each other without the same tension as it would be between him and Legolas.

"Well, lass," said Gimli, tapping his pipe, upside down, against the stone bench to make sure there was nothing smokeable left, "I will be off. Had a long journey here, and all that."

As he left, I gazed at the scenery, taking in Rivendell's trees, architecture, and waterfalls. I sighed contentedly as the sky grew dark and the stars came out. Stars unlike the ones at home. The brightest star, which must have been Earendil with his shining brow, winked and shone brightly next to the moon as I reflected on the happenings of The Silmarillion. A breath of air, filled with moisture and the scent of pine, ruffled my hair and warmed my spirit. Yes, this was not a dream I could forget.

* * *

Author's Note:Disclaimer:This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only:I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	3. Imladris

Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing, everybody! It is very appreciated. It took a while to write this chapter, and I'm pretty sure I did everything I could to make it good. Comment and critique-for real though, you know? I want to make my writing better for you guys. No haters, though, unless it is deserved, okay? Thanks. Disclaimer is at the bottom. READ IT! Enjoy. :)

I won't _ask_ for you to review, but believe me, they bring light to my day. Each is one more person that has been touched by my words.

_Elvish: A=Hi_

_Mellon-nin=My friend_

_N'i lû tôl=Until then_

* * *

Chapter 2: Imladris

The days that followed were peaceful and full of joy for me and the Fellowship members. Except, of course, for the sparring and practise fights Legolas had with me.

They were torturous, long, sweaty matches that were extended past the first one due to my inability to fight well enough, or at least for Legolas. He had commented on my fighting the first day, saying quickly in between swings of his knives, "You have not fought in a while indeed! How long has it been?" I had blanched and replied with a feint and a swing like I had seen Aragorn done once or twice in the movies. My elven sword was always suprisingly light in my hand, and for the first time that day, after hours of toil, it had taken Legolas down. We had stopped then for the rest of that day.

But besides the arduous work, my time had been spent in Rivendell's magnificient library. It was large and ornate, and pillared and filled with vines and vegetation. The white stone found everywhere in Rivendell was found here, and yet the grace here was not of nature and the outside beauty, but of musty pages, old and new ink, and stories and songs thousands and thousands of years old. I cursed my decision, at first, to not learn the written Elvish language. But, as I went on reading, the letters began to become clear to me.

After that, if I wasn't alone reading or fighting, I talked to members of the Fellowship, more often the hobbits, Gimli, Boromir, or Legolas than either Aragorn or Gandalf.

Often when I talked with Boromir, he regarded me with a cold distance. It was very understandable, however, seeing as I, a woman in Tolkien's world, had volunteered to go on a quest fraught with danger and, quite possibly, death. Extremely possibly for the Man of Gondor. And probably the fact that I was an elf from the realm of a reknown "elf-witch" didn't help all that much in his view of me.

Once I had greeted him outside in a courtyard, starting the awkwardest of conversations in Alex Forths' history.

"Hello, Boromir."

"Hello, Lady Merilieth."

"Fine weather, is it not?"

"Ah yes. Let us hope it continues for the journey."

We stood around. I started to twiddle my thumbs before Boromir decided to try to initiate an actual conversation.

"Did you volunteer to come on the Quest because you thought that we would be better off with you on the journey?" he asked, his face kind and open.

"No, I simply wanted to see the deed completed myself. Many of my kin died trying to defeat Sauron, and I wish to avenge them thoroughly." I said, making up some B.S., hoping that it wasn't a complete lie.

"I am sorry," Boromir replied. After a _really _awkward pause, we said our farewells and continued on. After I told Boromir of the "death of my kin" he seemed considerably warmer towards me.

Aragorn, a Dunedan and Ranger, long-lived and rugged, was always cuddling and smooching (to put it crudely) with Arwen, smooth and refined and just plain _beautiful_, and whispering quietly with her in the scenic gardens and peaceful places that just didn't exist on Earth.

The Grey Wizard was always in the library, when I was there, at least, poring over old tomes that told of Sauron, the Rings of Power, and the obstacles we could face on the Quest. But, as I knew, nothing could prepare him for dark tunnels and the weight of mountains above, and an end in flame and shadow, light and dark, fire and fear.

I was in an aisle of books out of his sight once, and I glanced at my hands, having finished a scroll of the song of Beren and Luthien. My gloves, dark-green and whole except for reaching halfway up my pinkies and thumbs, covered the ring that lay under.

I took off my right glove and gazed at the ring. I focused on it, and the green strain of magic, before not visible, appeared. I narrowed my eyes at the green slice of color. It danced and quivered and twisted, and then darted off, much to my unease. I ran through the library after it, but saw Gandalf and stopped sprinting at a fast elven pace, starting to walk instead. It would be odd to be running in a library, after all, and the wizard would suspect something was wrong. I didn't see where I was going, and smacked into a bookcase, too preoccupied with finding the green magic that had vanished, as if called.

Books had fallen when I ran into the shelf, and as I bent to pick them up, the green ribbon that had eluded me appeared again. Interested to experiment, I directed it with less difficulty than the first time I did so to wind around a book and pick it up. I fit the books into their places and kneeled over the last object that fell, a book of magic rings. I picked it up manually, somehow too exhausted to do it with the green magical sliver from my ring. I flopped down on the ground and the green stream vanished back into the ring.

I got up, wobbling, and looked to the end of the aisle to see Gandalf staring at me, or more like at my ring. I shifted uncomfortably and took the book I had picked up. I left, and felt Gandalf's eyes on my back.

* * *

The more I read and learned, the easier it was to use the ring. The stream of magic had also gotten larger and larger. It used to be the size of a knife, but now it was as big as me, an even six feet. It was definitely puzzling, and I wished, not for the last time, for a Google of Middle-Earth. The ring book I had decided to borrow from the library had not said anything about a ring anything like mine.

One day, Legolas spotted me walking outside with my bow and arrows, and in a long tunic and leggings. "Merilieth! Why so dressed?"

"_A mellon-nin_!" I replied, much more at ease in Elvish after weeks spent in the library, so I continued like so."I go to practise my archery."

I had done so earlier, while in Rivendell, but very little, and not too well, as the bow wasn't like compound bows from hunting shops.

"Would it be much trouble if I came?" I couldn't say no to the goddamn elf's offer because of _elven courtesy_. I mentally huffed and agreed with a smile on my face, knowing that my sub-par archery skills were the doom of my elven cover.

I started caring much more about my cover in the days after the Council of Elrond, because my dream was not a dream. I had started to realize this whenever I sparred and got a bruise and didn't wake up, or whenever I fell asleep, I never woke up in a theater. Just my room in Rivendell.

Legolas and I walked up to an arrow range and he began. His arrows hit the center, and would've splintered each other into pieces, but for his conservation of his effort in crafting arrows, as he told me earlier, when I had asked where he aimed for.

I nervously aimed an arrow at the center of the target one hundred yards in front of me, and let loose. It barely hit, and Legolas looked over, raising an eyebrow. I narrowed my eyes, thinking of all the times when in the modern world I had used an arrow. Especially the last time.

* * *

I was at an arrow range. Shooting arrows was second nature to me and the Archery Club, at moving targets, on moving platforms, on canoes. I aimed at the target one hundred yards away almost carelessly, thinking of how I would rather be in a canoe than at a boring old range. Seven arrows I had shot.

And then my friend's hunting dog had slipped free of his leash. No one had noticed. He had jumped out of the booth he was in into the range. He got in my arrow's path just as it began to fly through the air. There was nothing I could do but watch as it lodged in the dog's neck. There was nothing anyone could do.

It died immediately.

Sure, my friend forgave me (after a year or two) and got a new dog, but I was scarred by the image of the red blood splattered against the green of the grass.

* * *

Legolas was standing in front of me, hands on my shoulders. Seven more arrows were in the middle of the target, and my bow lay by my feet. I had never zoned out during archery before.

"Merilieth. What is the matter? You were shaking just now. Why did a simple archery practice go so oddly?" A good question, elf dude.

"I started thinking of our quest. When these Rings were created, they were meant to heal and let the peoples of Middle-Earth live together in harmony. But the One Ring..." I was just making something up, changing the subject, "It has naught but the power to destroy. And, our Quest aims to stop anymore suffering caused by such a small object. It seems impossible."

I had always pegged Legolas as somewhat of a pessimist, or at least a realist. He surprised me then, saying in a soothing voice and releasing his hold on my shoulders, "The past is the past. If it turned out right, then wonderful. But, if it hurts our future, then we must let go of the past and stay in the present. Elves fade by dwelling too deeply in their past hurts. You should know this better than any of us, after what happened."

My eyes opened wide in curiosity, though the son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, had taken my facial reaction as a hurt shock, apologized, bid me farewell, and walked off. Before he left to let me get over the "shock", however, he said, "No matter what happens, or what happened, just remember: I am here for you."

I watched him leave, probably to give me space, and my jaw dropped. I didn't know anything about me, but everything about the other characters of Tolkien. Wonderful. Super. Yay. Now I had to research myself without raising unanswerable questions, which of course would be just effortless-in Mission: Impossible, maybe.

I walked to my room, my bow and arrows untidily piled in my arms, as I returned to a daze from my flashback after retrieving the arrows in the target.

Legolas' words had a calming effect on me, and had made me think, instead of giving up archery entirely, like I had; why not use the accident to improve? Yes, I had made a grave mistake; that didn't mean that the world was going to end.

I entered the room provided to me by the ever-so-gracious elves, and saw my bag in the corner of the room, my purse from my world. I had never touched it until now, but decided to transfer the useful stuff inside to a pack I could wear on the Quest.

In the theater, there were only headphones, my Blackberry, The Return of the King, gum wrappers and a pack of mint gum, Chapstick, and three bucks in it. Now there was also a thick leather-bound journal that looked like it was from Middle-Earth.

I took it out of the purse, setting my weaponry carefully down on my half-made bed. The inside cover, in black calligraphy, like the pages were written in, said, "Merilieth: Lothlorien Marchwarden."

The first page was dated 2560 Second Age. It read, in fancy and stylish Elvish:

**Today be my thousandth year alive. Thranduil gave me this. He expects me to write in it, which is laughable, for me to talk to an inanimate object. Yet, I shall keep records of interesting doings, for him.**

The journal was not very personal, but rather detached. Maybe I had been getting the character of Merilieth right? It mainly held news of the Second Age of Middle-Earth, but had events in this elf's life in every entry. Throughout the journal, I noticed that her entries started addressing the journal as "Journal", probably because she thought it ridiculous to name a journal. _I_ would certainly think so.

Near the end of the journal, it had said of events pertaining to the final battle of the Second Age, with the Last Alliance of Elves and Men:

**The Year 1 of the Third Age: Sauron's armies have been defeated and the One Ring cut from his finger. I have lost all my friends and kin, and wish I could have fallen too. Journal, I have lasted far too long as a carefree elf. I mean to do work, and help the elves recover from these losses. I shall not smile until we have resettled and Sauron's Ring be vanished from the lands of Middle-Earth.**

Poor elf. All her family and friends, gone. Vanished from her life, forever. I tried not to think about how I was in much the same situation. Oh, how I missed my family. Their smiles, their laughter, their food. We, Merilieth and I, did have a lot of similarities after all.

**The Battle of Dagorlad was long, and the siege of Barad-dûr was longer: seven years of death, pain, and loss. More than seven years it took to complete this struggle, though. Millenia of rebellion and courage have paid off.**

**The Year 13 of the Third Age: Lady Galadriel has appointed me as a marchwarden, per my many requests, of Lothlorien. It is, I think, less for my fighting ability, which has decreased slightly since the Battle of Dagorlad, but more for my instincts, both in battle and out.**

I supposed that her instincts stayed with the body I inhabited. Strange. Maybe _that's_ why I was made an elf?

A knock on the door of my room prompted me to close the journal and shove it back in my purse. I closed the zipper, not wanting my Return of the King book to be visible.

"Come in," I called in Elvish, expecting Legolas, and so was very surprised to find Gandalf at the entrance to the room instead.

I inclined my head to the wizard, and greeted him in the common tongue.

"Hello, Mithrandir. To what may I attribute this visit to?" I said, pulling a chair from next to my bed and offering him it to sit. Sit he did, and looked at me from under the wide brim of his pointy hat.

"I come on business. More specifically, I think you have a little trinket I am very curious about," said the Istar, and I paled as I tried to act ignorant. Stupid stalking wizard.

"Do not try to hide it, Merilieth. Or rather, what is your name?" I sat on the bed, and huffed. So, my cover was blown. But, did the dude tell anyone? And how long did he know?

"Alex. Alex Forths. I'm not from here. How did you find out I'm not this Merilieth chick?"

Gandalf chuckled at the word "chick". "I saw your ring, and the elf you are openly hates rings of magic, even if not rings of power. She was always lenient, however, to her own kind who wore these rings. Do not take off your gloves anymore, for then people will question why an elf who has never worn a ring is wearing one now."

I stared at him and fidgeted, wanting to ask about the ring, as he asked me how I got here. "Well, I was...watching a performance, but in a...hall...where I was alone. Next thing I know, I'm here. I'm sorry, but I have no clue what happened to Merilieth."

The wizard's gaze became lighter, and if I ever thought that the elf I took the body of was dead, and I did, I wouldn't think it again. "She is not dead. Merilieth, that is. I know it has crossed your mind. Nay, she is sharing your brain with you." What the hell? _Sharing my brain_? "Open your mind. Can you feel her presence?"

Open my mind. Yeah, because everyone can do that. Gandalf seemed to figure out my mind-opening handicap and looked disappointed.

"As for your ring, it will function with your knowledge, I believe. Whatever your mind can concieve, it can do, but with some restrictions. Like my magic, it does take a toll on you physical strength, so do not do magic that would be too much. Right now, I think it is wise to stay with lifting books." The wizard winked and chuckled, but somehow still gave off a tone of seriousness. "But, on to Merilieth: if you _do_ feel a presence, do not be alarmed. She would only help you with her wisdom," said the Istar, and bid me a farewell before leaving abruptly.

"Thanks for making everything _so_ clear," I mumbled to myself and heard a quiet chuckle coming from the corridor outside the room. Stupid ambiguous wise dudes.

* * *

The days went from autumn to winter, and became progressively colder. As the weather froze the world and covered it in thick white blankets outside the magic of Rivendell, I knew that the Fellowship's time here was limited.

I was chatting with the hobbits Merry and Pippin one day when a snow flake drifted to the ground.

"I only wish it were warmer for the quest," said Pippin as he stuck out his hand in wonder to catch the tiny miracle of science on his palm. "The Shire is usually relatively warm and weather-free. That's why we are able to grow our gardens so nicely, you know?"

"Especially Farmer Maggot," said Merry, and the two best friends laughed innocently. I smiled at the purity of it all, and in remembrance of their "shortcut to mushrooms". Soon, though, they would face more dangers than a cranky old hobbit farmer.

Boromir had once commented on the hobbits' innocent and relatively defenseless state. "We shall not let these hobbits have to fend for themselves like we will. Hobbits are, really, the only race left whose past hardships have been forgotten and forgiven." His kind words had made me smile, but frown when he wasn't looking. He would never know of his own, personal hardships until he came too close to the Ring.

It was windy and cold one day, and my dying Blackberry, that I turned off except for today to see the date, said it was December 24th. I frowned at the screen. Christmas Eve. I should be with my family, but I was off in Middle-Earth on an adventure. "And you still don't know how to get back," a nasty part of my mind said, and homesickness took over.

I looked at old pictures on my phone of my friends, my golden retriever, Eomer, (whom I was excited to meet the namesake of) and my family. My mom and dad were always having me over for holidays, I was never alone due to my friends and Eomer, and _man_ did I miss it.

"Beep! Beep! Beep!" My phone showed a low battery and it went black. I huffed. I thought of my magic ring and summoned the magic. I glared at the mass of green and directed it into my phone, thinking that maybe it could charge it. My idea worked. The screen came alive, the QWERTY keyboard and numbers lit up, and it charged, much faster than it ever had attached to a wall socket. I left some of my magic in the phone to charge the stupid electronically-dependent device, and separated the rest and put it into my ring. What couldn't this ring do?

"It can't bring you back home," said the same old pessimistic part of my mind.

I had tried. Countless books I read on different worlds and how to supposedly travel there, but no matter how hard my ring magic had been forced into doing so, it never did. I gave up after weeks of constant effort, just thinking that my mind was not strong enough. Maybe someone with a ring could've taken me home long ago, like Elrond, but I had never asked, simply because I had imagined myself still in a dream for the longest time. Now, I just assumed there was no time and asking now would be asking too late. I was part of the Fellowship, and nothing could change that. (not that I was loathe to join the Nine Walkers)

Another knock on my door came, and for the second time that day, I hid away something in my purse, but this time my phone, and more securely. It would so not be cool to have to explain smartphones to elves.

Aragorn of all people came in, surprising me like Gandalf had days and days ago.

"Hello, Merilieth," I assumed that since he didn't say "Lady Merilieth" he and I were supposed to be friends, "We leave tomorrow on the Quest." I nodded, having looked in the appendices of The Return of the King and seen the date when the Ring went south. December 25th. "We leave by nightfall tomorrow. Be ready, and pack all you need. Food, though, will be carried by Bill, the pony that I and the hobbits bought from a man in Bree. _N'i lû tôl_," said the heir of Isildur, and left, presumably to tell the other members of the Fellowship what he had told me. He quickly poked his head around the doorway, though and said, "I am glad you will be there, _mellon-nin_," said the Ranger kindly, and further confirmed my inference that Merilieth and he were friends. Great. Another person who could expose my secret.

I had asked for a good travel pack and bedroll earlier, and attached these to each other, but packed light to leave room for my quiver. Everything that was in my purse (even the money, so no one would see it by chance and get confused) went into the pack, along with some medicinal herbs that some elves had assured me were great for wounds, a water-filled waterskin, and also bandages.

I packed a spare brown tunic and grey leggings. I decided that I would wear my boots and coat from my world of the modern age, and a blue tunic and grey leggings identical to the spare ones: plain, light, and fitting. I wore a tight tank-top under the tunic for certain reasons...Anyway, only wearing my coat and a dark brown, thick, hooded, warm, and soft cloak that the elves had given me would keep me warm, since as an elf, weather wouldn't affect me as much as it would the hobbits, especially on Caradhas, the mountain we were destined to try to scale.

Before going off to sleep, I decided to walk around Rivendell and thank everyone who had helped me and the Fellowship. It really was generous to host the One Ring within their borders, what with Sauron and his huge eye always focused on Rivendell, and probably bent on killing everything that stood in his path to get to his precious Ring.

I came across Legolas, who was saying his goodbyes to his mentor and closest friends. I waited for them to leave, and went up to him. He appeared to be very far away and sad about the Quest. Well, that made one of us.

"Ah, Merilieth! Are you ready for the Quest?" said Legolas, deep in thought, gloomy, and so distracted that he hugged me in greeting. My cheeks felt warm, and I tried to calm my over-active blushing down. He let go, and seemed to be embarassed of his boldness, yet pleased that I wasn't disapproving or whatever. After all, that's what's great about elves: they usually don't hug too freely.

"Yes Legolas. I was just going around and thanking everyone for being so hospitable," I said as we started to head back to our rooms to get enough rest for the journey ahead.

Legolas hummed loudly in response and went on being sad and forlorn. This side of him scared me, and I was very serious when we parted in front of my room and I said to get sleep and rest.

I walked into my room for the last time, Legolas' sad hums of a slow and somber song still audible from further down the corridor outside. I sighed and got ready for bed, careful to braid my hair so it wouldn't need a brush the next day. I wondered if that was how women in Middle-Earth kept their hair so impeccable. I put it on a mental bucket list of things to ask in awkward silence. "I could even ask Legolas," I thought and giggled to myself, thinking of his long blonde hair.

My thoughts stayed on Legolas that night, and my dreams were full of warm, crushing hugs from really hot elves. Or rather, one really hot elf.

* * *

The sunset came all too soon the next day, and I had made sure to not forget anything. I almost forgot my weapons, but had spotted them out of the corner of my sight, and slung my quiver with arrows and bow inside over my back, and with difficulty, attached my sword and knife sheaths to my left hip on an elven belt that was tightened around my buttoned green coat.

Elrond met the Fellowship and I at the exit of Rivendell when the sun's orange and pink hues had nearly faded from the sky as we waited for them to hurry up and do so already, so that we could travel under the cover of night, and do so at least until we were far from the valley of The Last Homely House. We did not wish to let the eyes of the enemy spy our departure.

Scouts had come back only a week ago with news of the Nine, the ringwraiths who had once been great kings of men. Eight of the nine had been found, so it was assumed that they were scattered, shapeless, and formless. That gave Elrond and Gandalf evidently enough peace of mind to start the journey that would end the Ring.

Aragorn had his sword Anduril, forged from the shards of Narsil, broken by Sauron so many Millenia ago, back in the Second Age. Legolas' depressed mood matched all others in the Company, except for Bill the Pony and me. I knew what would happen, and so was not too fearful for the succeeding of the Quest.

"This is my last word," said Elrond, looking at all of us and speaking quietly yet clearly, "The Ring-Bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need. The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way. You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows. The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road."

Gimli spoke up, serving as a sharp contrast to Boromir, who I knew had always somewhat wanted to take the Ring to Mina's Tirith, the White City of Gondor and his home. "Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens."

"Maybe," said the dark-haired elf who had seen much and learned much the hard way, "but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall."

"Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart," said the gruff dwarf in rebuttal, surprisingly well-spoken and clever in his word choice.

"Or break it," said Elrond, and ended their parley of words. He bid us farewell, and blessed us and bade us to go with good hearts. Bilbo, who stood nearby, wished us a stuttering (due to the cold) good luck.

The aged hobbit and I had talked whilst in Rivendell. He proved to be wise, yet not solemn, and certainly very entertaining. All of his stories, poems, and songs were excellent and had many different influences, and I was definitely happy to see that the Ring was not on his mind in appearance when he was truly enjoying himself.

Arwen stood in the shadows, and she and Aragorn had bid each other a long and bitterly sweet whispered farewell. Ooh, I just couldn't wait until their wedding!

Only few other elves were permitted to watch us leave, for a large gathering would alert the Enemy too much, and so we had said goodbye after supper in the Hall of Fire. As we left, Frodo ceremoniously in the front, he asked, "Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right?"

Gandalf pointed subtly to the left and off we went. I looked back, and knew I would miss the peace of Imladris.

* * *

Author's Note: Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only:I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	4. The Ring Hits the Road

Author's Note: Wow. 422 views. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed. It means the world to me, for real. I wouldn't have gotten as diligent in my work ethic and story quality if it wasn't for you guys. And not just the people who comment and stuff-viewing it brings light to my days. I think I will be updating more often, maybe every one or two days, but no promises-I have piano testing on Sunday, and have to study and practice. So, please forgive me if I don't update as often as you would like; if it were possible, I would update every hour of every day! But I don't think my fingers can move that fast, even as a seasoned piano player. ;) Also, would anyone want me to respond by Author's Note to questions or comments you have about the story, or in the review section? I don't know what the general public wants, so I ask. Disclaimer is at the bottom. Read it, since I don't want to be sued. Anyway...

Reviews are not _asked for_, they are _earned_. Let's hope I earned them. Tell me what you think, and if you have any critique. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3: The Ring Hits the Road

Shortly after we had left Rivendell, Aragorn and Gandalf had moved to the front of the procession, and Frodo had joined his fellow hobbits in the back. The hobbits were quite upbeat and raised sometimes quite a ruckus, but wouldn't be that way for long, so the Company let them be, despite the attention they could've drawn, and on we went. A certain conversation had drawn my attention and made me want to laugh uncontrollably due to the irony of it all.

"Pippin, there is a spider on your arm," said Merry before whacking it off.

Pippin shuddered. "I hate spiders."

"Same here, Mr. Pippin. Remember those giant spiders of Mirkwood Bilbo always talked about? I hope I should never meet one of _those_. Not even armed like _you_, Mr. Frodo, what with your elven sword and all," said Sam. I muffled a snort.

"I hope we do not have to encounter those Black Riders again. That was terrible! And their swords! It would be impossible to even stab one from the back! Even Strider had trouble with them!" said Merry. I needed to laugh, badly.

"And Strider is as good as a knight! And we are definitely not knights..." said Pippin quietly. I couldn't hold anything in anymore and turned around.

"You may be by the end of this journey, Master Pippin! You may become anything should the need and desire fall upon you!" I patted his shoulder as he smiled, and we continued to walk on.

The weather was dismal. Cold winds bit at us and cut like a knife through our layered garments as if they were not there. The land was hilly, and the expanse never really seemed to stop. It had been two weeks of traveling in the bitingly cool dark night, led by the moon and stars, before we had experienced a change in weather, with clear skies and the sun shining up above.

Hollin, or Eregion to the elves, was once an Elvish kingdom that was ravaged due to the War of the Rings. It was dotted here and there with ruins of the civilization that once lived within its wide domain. The state they were in saddened me, yet I knew that, like Legolas had said, the past is the past. The ruins gave imagination a headstart in imagining the cities and buildings that had once stood on the rocky plain. But, the ghost of a thought would never be sufficient for the elves that once lived here, before Sauron and the Ring's evil stretched over the spread of Middle-Earth.

We slept near clusters of shrubs and rocks during the day for cover from unfriendly eyes before we reached Hollin, hidden, ever mindful of the fact that we had that one thing that the Enemy wanted, and we would be nearly helpless if he found our little ten-member group. After all, he did have armies of orcs. In Hollin, though, as we were far enough from Rivendell that if we were seen, the Enemy would not suspect The Last Homely House of anything, we traveled in the daylight.

The change was definitely welcome. No more did we have to sleep in harsh daylight uneasily, or travel through the night like thieves. At night, campfires kindled not only their fuel, but our spirits. Sam had even sometimes made tea from surrounding herbs for us, and other times, we feasted on venison that Legolas and I had caught.

One night, we were talking around the fire about our pasts. I just bunched up into a ball, drawing my knees to my chest, and said nothing. I didn't want to say something false and get caught on my lie.

"Oh, lad, that is good, but be glad you did not get sent off somewhere by mail!" Gimli roared, a pipe in his mouth when he was telling Pippin of how _his own_ tale was more mischievous or something of the sort. "You messed up the entire mail system in the Shire? Once, I got _shipped in_ the mail. I ended up going from the Blue Mountains to the Iron Hills!"

Laughter rose around me, and I chuckled into my shoulder.

"Now, how old were you, though?" asked Pippin.

"Eh, maybe about seven," Gimli replied.

"Ah! Now _I_ was about three or four! I was mischievous and a burden long before you!" Pippin obviously took a pride of sorts in these _grave_ matters.

"Ah, but Master Took, you must remember that Dwarves and Hobbits mature differently. Gimli was older in years, but in dwarf years younger," mentioned Aragorn, bemusedly puffing on his pipe.

"But what Pippin did was greater in scale, Estel," said Legolas with a smirk on his face.

"What do you think, Merilieth?" Merry asked. I was shocked somewhat by the question, but hid it with a smile that spread across my face.

"Well... What Pippin did _was_ larger in scale, but Gimli was sent off in the mail at a lower age. And you both did it half on purpose and half not..." I put on a look of deep thought for a while, enjoying everyone's waiting gaze. "I think the winner would be the hobbit," Pippin smiled foolishly, "For he is much of a fool now, as well," I said slyly. Everyone broke out in laughter, even Pippin. Fool of a Took. I looked to his face to make sure he was not hurt by my words, though, and was glad to see no sign of embarrassment or queasiness.

"Once, I was running messages from my father around the city to very important military captains when I was not ten years old, with my brother Faramir. He went off to deliver a message and said it correctly to the right people, but I always made a mistake, whether it be of the message wording or the recipient, even. Once the day was over, a quarter of the generals were storming my father and asking the purpose of his decisions. I had messed up some of the messages so greatly that they had came out in the opposite of what my father had meant! Though, he had thought I meant it on purpose, but I had just befuddled the words with my young and easily distracted mind," said Boromir.

"Do you remember any ones in particular?" Pippin was always so inquisitive.

"Yes, actually. Just one, though. My father had told me to say, 'You must attack the East Flank of opposing armies while so and so general did this charge on the North sides of armies'. I said it like, 'My father wants you, in battle, to flap the Yeast Bank of opposing barmies.'" We laughed along with Boromir at the young Boromir's horrible hearing malfunction.

"I remember, once, Gandalf had first met me. Now, I was young, maybe around five?" Aragorn began. "His hat had intrigued me, and so I snatched it away from his head once when he was not wary enough, and he was not able to get it back until I was good and tired of sitting in a tree with some food and water for a couple of days." Gandalf chuckled.

"I myself have a story," said the Istar, and I tried and failed to imagine him as a young boy. All my mind got was a mini version of the Grey Wizard, beard and all. "Once, this little ruffian," and he pointed to Legolas, "had misbehaved greatly." All of us listened carefully, eager to hear something so scandalous about the elf, or at least, scandalous by elven standards. "He had taken my staff and turned his friends into frogs by accident, for my staff did things like that when in hands other than my own. He had tried to lay the staff down by my bed once when I was sleeping, and I caught him. I nearly turned _him_ into a frog, but instead turned his friends back to elves. Needless to say they were not happy, and I daresay Legolas learned his lesson." The elf rubbed his arm and winced in remembrance as the Company laughed.

That same night was the first night Legolas had slept next to me. Not close, but close enough so that it wasn't too far or too awkward. I dreamed of frogs jumping over fences with hearts for eyes, and their herder was Legolas, collecting never-ending big pink hearts in his hands and blowing them at me. _Obviously_ the pipe weed they smoked here was messing with my brain. Urgh. I blamed it all on Gandalf.

* * *

Whenever I looked around, I always was awed by the beauty of Middle-Earth. Snow covered mountain tops sat high up in the distance, and large rocky hills that seemed as big as mountains to _me_, at least, were ever present. Vegetation grew everywhere, green and lush, yet subtle, as if watchful of growing too large. For, after all, wasn't Saruman, who lived not too far off, on a rampage to kill all trees? Industry. I thought of a title of a story from a Russian dude, Demidov, I think. "People die for metal", except now, it was trees who died for the fires of manufacturing Uruk-hai. Not too different from Earth; however, we never manufactured Uruks back home. Hopefully.

It had been revealed in Rivendell that Saruman, the White Wizard and the greatest and wisest of the Istari in Middle-Earth had turned against us and joined the Enemy. He really was going to be a pain in the neck. Well, with great power comes great responsibility. Let's just say I wouldn't trust Saruman with guarding a piece of scrap paper, and he had all of this power. Not a good combination. And all because he wanted a stupid Ring.

Our plan of going about our journey was simple. "We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days," said Gandalf one day, "If our luck holds, the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. And there, our road turns east, to Mordor." We held to that path until Saruman's treachery did its toll on our plans.

After a long morning of travel, we were resting among a cluster of large rocks, smooth and grey and with some green space in between them. Boromir was teaching Merry and Pippin how to fight, and I recognized the scene. Yes, things were about to fall apart, and quickly, too.

I sat near the fire, knowing what would happen, and kept some dirt ready in the palm of my hand. "The skies are clouded. I hope it doesn't rain," I mentioned to Aragorn as he sat nearby, smoking his pipe.

"Merilieth, if rain is the least of our troubles, then we should be very well off on this Quest," said Aragorn. I groaned. "What?" Aragorn looked over his shoulder and tilted his head in confusion at my displeasure.

"Now that you have mentioned our luck, I expect a horde of dragons to come, or something of the sort, and attack us!" Aragorn chuckled at my explanation, but he had no freaking idea how serious I was. Dude, come on. I mentioned the skies for a reason.

"1-2-1-5! Good, very good," Boromir said to Pippin. More sounds of metal striking metal were made.

"Move your feet," Aragorn commented. Merry complemented Pippin, and got his turn to spar with Boromir.

"If anyone was asking for my opinion, which I note _they're not_, I would say we were taking the _long_ way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome," said Gimli. I felt sad for him, for he was to be disappointed on the counts of his cousin Balin, and for that matter, Balin's friends Ori and Oin. As I and only I knew in all of Middle-Earth, they were long dead, and Moria overrun by goblins and trolls and orcs, oh my. And...a certain demon of the Flame of Udun. A Balrog.

Gandalf replied, "No Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice." Their conversation saddened me, reminding me of our future hardships we were to face on the road ahead.

I looked over at Legolas as his attention was drawn towards a black mass in the sky, far off, but closing in fast. Boromir had just accidentally hurt Merry in their spar, and so the Brandybuck kicked him in the shin, Pippin hit him with his sword, and the hobbits tackled the man. They tussled, and their light-heartedness brought the tension of our situation into an even darker light.

"What is that?" asked Sam.

"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud," said Gimli, dismissing a greater danger.

Boromir had stood, despite Merry and Pippin's efforts to take him down. He put his word in, "It's moving fast, against the wind."

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas shouted, his eyes keener than the rest of the Fellowship's, except for possibly me. I could see them too, and was amazed at the power of the senses that elves possessed, never really needing to use that sensitivity to sound, smell, and sight until now.

"Hide!" called Aragorn, and I scattered the dirt in my hand over the fire. It went out, and I stomped on it a couple of times for good measure. I grabbed my double-edged sword and pack that lay nearby and looked about as my companions scuttled under rocks and brush. A hand pulled at the back of my cloak, and tugged me along under a bush.

I turned my head to see Legolas next to me, and we nodded at each other, and returned our attention to the Crebain, which flew down over our previous encampment where now there was not one sign of anyone having been there recently. I noticed Legolas slightly shift to cover me, and I tried not to let my cheeks flush red. "No need to be awkward, Alex," I thought. Thankfully, the Crebain soon passed, and we emerged from our hiding places.

"Spies of Saruman," said the Grey Wizard, "The passage south is being watched." Silence and thoughts of what to do next spread amongst us. I pulled my cloak around me, knowing I would miss the warmth. "We must take the Pass of Caradhas." We looked up to see a formidable mountain towering over our heads. Its snow-capped peak looked to be a unpleasant obstacle to our progress towards the destination of Mordor.

"Ladies and gents, please keep all limbs, weaponry, and staffs inside the carriage at all times. You're going to need them," I thought, thinking of how nice a roller coaster would be to carry us over the cruel mountain Caradhas. If Saruman didn't break the tracks, that is. Hah.

* * *

Up over the mountain we went. Snow was everywhere, and the gleaming white expanse started to create black spots in my vision. I really wanted some sunglasses, to say the least.

Legolas walked next to me, and us two, being elves, had less trouble than the rest with scaling the mountain. We walked on the snow, and did not have to plow through it. "A nice time to be an elf," I murmured to the blonde, and he chuckled quietly, nodding in agreement. Gimli was wading through the snow a little behind us, and heard our conversation, judging by his quite audible and annoyed huff. I added to my statement to make the dwarf not too full of dislike towards me and Legolas. "However, if too strong a wind blows, we will be blown away like rag dolls!" I heard Gimli chuckle and was pleased to see Legolas smiling despite the dwerrow's laugh at my self-deprecating jab.

I looked to Boromir who stood nearby. He walked before the hobbits, and made large tracks so that their passage through the deep snow would be made easier. He caught me staring at the footprints, and I nodded at him. He replied with a nod as well as a brief smile. This side of Boromir I would miss.

We trekked on, and on, and on, and the arduous climbing was really starting to drain our strength, especially the Hobbits.

Frodo stumbled down once, and rolled down the slope to be stopped by Aragorn. But when the members of the Fellowship noticed that the Ring lay far away from the Ringbearer, and Boromir was picking it up, the tension got so thick, I felt like it could've been cut with an axe.

"Boromir," said Aragorn, wary.

"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so fear and doubt," began Boromir, "for so small a thing." His face was entranced by the band of gold. "Such a little thing." Ever so slowly, his hand not holding the chain that held the Ring crept up to touch Sauron's evil creation.

"Boromir!" called Aragorn. "Give the Ring to Frodo." His words broke the man of Gondor out of his trance. He seemed somewhat confused.

"As you wish. I care not," said the man being slowly trapped by the Ring's powerful call. He ruffled Frodo's hair, oblivious to the rest of the Fellowship that was ahead staring and watching the scene play out. I seemed to be the only one besides the halflings that had not tightened their grip on a weapon.

* * *

We had come, in the middle of a heavy blizzard, to a cliff that was thin and narrow. Snow was piled up so high and thick that the hobbits, unlike the doughty dwarf Gimli, could not push their way through, and had to be carried by Aragorn and Boromir. Legolas and I spread ourselves amongst the Company so that we could lift their spirits, by showing no toil. However, no one was really cheered, especially when Legolas commented, and I had noticed too, with my elven hearing, "There is a fell voice on the air."

"It's Saruman!" yelled Gandalf. Suddenly, rocks fell from above, and all of us clung to the wall of the cliff.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled from the back of our single-file procession. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" Gandalf started to chant in Elvish, trying to work against Saruman's magic and trying to calm the mountain.

That didn't work so well. Lightning came out and flashed, a stripe of light in the black cloud cover that threatened to engulf us all. It smote the mountain, and a heavy curtain of snow was shaken from its tall perch, and started to fall upon the Company. I panicked and fell down against the mountain, not wanting to be buried by a wall of cold. I thought of my ring, closed my eyes tightly, covered my head, and directed the magic to cover all who were with me. Next to me were the Perenniath and Bill the Pony, and a film of green covered us from harm as the snow landed.

As the hobbits began to realize they weren't smooshed, I quickly jumped over them so they wouldn't suspect anything of a wall of snow just hanging over them in mid-air, since they couldn't see my ring's magic. Frodo, however, focused on something in the air above him, as if confused and trying to see something faint. Crap. Completely forgot Gandalf and I were not the only Ringbearers, since I knew the wizard owned Narya, the elvish Ring of Power for Fire.

"Up, dig up! I said quickly, wanting to conserve our air. The hobbits tried their best, but I did most of the work, while still trying to hold up appearances of holding the snow up. I popped up and my head emerged from the top of the snow pile. Sam was the first of the halflings up, having being somewhat shielded by his beloved pony. I pulled Merry and Pippin up, and dived down to get Frodo, but he himself beat me to it. I looked over to see Legolas pull Gimli up, and I smiled slightly at the camaraderie they were already displaying. I pulled my magic back into my ring and heard the snow collapse. The sound, however, was lost under the wailing wind and whistling blizzard.

Boromir shouted over to Gandalf, "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan! Take the west route to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" said Aragorn, gesturing and trying to make himself heard over the wrath of Caradhas.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria." I noticed that Gimli's voice brought out a fear in Gandalf's eyes. Legolas seemed to see it, too.

"Moria is the safer road, Gandalf!" I yelled over the shriek of the wind, causing some curious glances from Legolas, the only one who seemed to hear me. I sighed in frustration.

"Let the Ringbearer decide," said the wizard, slowly and with a voice that was empty of all emotion, "Frodo?"

Frodo said the one thing that Gandalf feared, and his despair was shown, emanating from his very body. "We will go through the Mines."

"If you only knew, Frodo, what would happen, or any of us knew what would happen, you rather would've chosen to brave the storm of Saruman," I thought, but knew what would transpire would have to happen for the Quest of the Ring to succeed. I wanted to tell everyone of their fate if we took the path to Mordor that led under the mountains, but knew I couldn't. Plus, I didn't know what would happen if we braved ice and cold and snow. Better to lose a Gandalf and get an even more kick-butt Gandalf back, than possibly losing everyone on the Quest to Saruman's weather wizardry. Or the might of Caradhras, for that matter.

So, down we went, plowing back through snow and cold. The storm abated, though, and we had an easier time going down than up by far. Merry and Pippin were already thinking of fun ways to get down, instead of having to walk. I thought, more than once, of introducing sledding or snowboarding to Middle-Earth with Boromir's shield. However, Legolas and I merely walked at the front of the line, and talked as we went ahead to find relatively snow-free areas to lead the troop down the Misty Mountains.

"I do not like this business of heading into Moria. Gandalf did not like it, and whatever he thinks is bad usually turns out to be so," Legolas said, blissfully unaware of the truth of his own words. His words were low so that only I could hear.

I replied quietly and with a bit of hope in my voice. "You never know. Perhaps we can pass through Moria unnoticed and unbothered."

Legolas looked at me, seeing through my false optimism, and his grim gaze broke that veil of a lie I had constructed. He never would know it was a lie though, unless he found out that I was not Merilieth by himself. He would just think it was a weak hope.

"You know it is not dwarves who dwell there. Such a small company that was led to retake Durin's home would not have defeated the filth that lives deep under these old mountains. Did you not see the look on Mithrandir's face? No, there is great evil lying in the halls of the dwarves that once were there," said Legolas, looking back and waving Aragorn over to tell the rest of the group to walk where we stood. I pulled my cloak closer around me, though I preferred the cold to the nearly never-ending underground that had been taken over by evil of the worst kind.

"The dwarf, he does not know. His stubbornness and hope can be both a blessing and a curse. He will not be pleased, far from it," Legolas looked distraught at my words. He did care for Gimli's feelings, after all. I wondered at which race was more stubborn: dwarves, or elves. Hmph.

We stopped a while later, and Gandalf thought it okay to build a fire. Build a fire we did, with much difficulty and Gandalf's help, since the wind kept blowing out the flames and the snow that melted extinguishing the light. He was a master at combustion, after all. The hobbits huddled close to the weakly burning mass of spare wood that had been found lower down the mountain path, and the others helped shield them from the elements somewhat. Legolas tried to push me closer to the fire, but I stood fast and stubbornly set my jaw. He rolled his eyes playfully and gave up.

The fire really did help raise our moods, but I only thought of the Balrog when I felt the heat or smelled the smoke of the flame. I shuddered. Legolas attributed it to cold, and put me between him and the flame. I tried not to cry, but felt a frozen drop of ice form on my cheek. I put my hood up, and my face did show any emotion outside of the hood, but was like the weather inside the hood: stormy, cold, and bleak.

* * *

Once we had reached the foot of the mountain, night had fallen and all of us were tired, even stout Gimli. We decided to rest until morning, and then head towards the deep caverns of Moria. Legolas and I needed less sleep as elves than the others, and better sight and hearing, so we stood on watch. Gandalf let us all take a sip from his flask of miruvor, an elvish rejuvenating drink, that he had carried from Rivendell. It was like fire in my stomach, one that did not burn, but soothed instead.

The wind blew strongly in the open, howling and biting at my face and fingers, but it was warm enough, lower down in elevation, that I was not frozen like on the mountain that had defeated us.

The wind continued to make a loud moaning racket, and did not help the other members of the Fellowship to finally relax and rest after the scaling of Caradhas.

"This wind...it is not a normal wind. It is too low-pitched in its whining," I thought out loud, trying to get Legolas' attention on purpose. About now, in the book, the Nine Walkers were beset upon by wargs...

"How the wind howls!" cried Aragorn suddenly, "It is howling with wolf-voices. The Wargs have come west of the Mountains!"

Gandalf and the Men broke into discussion, and I pulled my bow from my quiver, and set an arrow beside me. They decided, as I knew they would, to make a fire and leave at once in the morning.

Legolas and I stayed on watch after we had relocated to a small hilltop with a broken ring of rocks and boulders around it for better defense. The fire blazed at our backs, and kept a light, but would just alert the wargs more to our presence. I tested my bow string, and sat. The night was silent but for the cries in the air, and my blood ran cold. Eyes, luminous from the glow of the fire, appeared around the camp. A solitary Warg came into our sight. I nocked an arrow, but Gandalf stood and beat me to the challenging of the Warg, who seemed like a captain calling all the others to attack.

"Listen, Hound of Sauron!" said Gandalf in a powerful voice that boomed and resonated with power. "Gandalf is here. Fly, if you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout, if you come within this ring."

The Warg sprang forward and Legolas pierced it with an arrow to the throat, and it fell. I looked at Legolas, stunned, for his stroke was quick as a flash. And me? I just stood there stupidly, with an arrow even nocked! Argh, why are elves such bosses?

The night went on, and so did the eyes and howls of the Warg pack. They vanished. I still kept my arrow ready, determined to be useful the next time they attacked. And attack they did.

They came in a sudden onset of howls and growls. We fueled the fire with branches and wood that lay near, but the Wargs who had surrounded us were not deterred by its roaring warmth or its bright light. We stood with our backs to the fire and fought as they leapt over the stones and stroke with claw and tooth and their mighty paws.

I shot arrow after arrow, and even hit some in the head with my bow like a staff. Once they came too close, I drew my sword, but was not near as proficient in my fighting as with my bow. One Warg leapt on me, and I stabbed it with my knife, drawing it with difficulty from its sheath, and it was pushed off of me by Legolas, who had been standing nearby. He extended a hand and pulled me up.

Gandalf then seemed to grow large and threw a flaming branch of wood from the failing fire at the Wargs, and set some of their fur to burn in flame, or frightened others away, yelping. His might was undescribable, like the mountain of Caradhas itself, yet not of stinging cold, but of burning heat. He was fierce like the Fellowship had not seen him before. The Wargs were warded off eventually, and Legolas' last arrow caught on fire and pierced a large wolf-chieftain in the heart.

Soon, the morning had come, its unwavering light bringing a sense of safety, and the bodies of the Wargs had disappeared. Legolas' and my arrows were strewn about, with no sign of the demon wolves ever having being slain by them. The weather, however, was no longer dark and gloomy, and was clear. Yeah, sure! _Of course_. By now I was sure the weather really liked Saruman and not us; for we could see foes for miles around, but that meant our foes could see us too. We had to hurry if we wanted to make it to the Doors of Durin alive and unharmed.

As the day grew older, the Fellowship, which was becoming more and more a Fellowship, travelled over the last stretch of land before the great underground Dwarf region of Khazad-Dum that was now Moria, deeper and darker and fouler. Gimli seemed to be the only one who was actually eager to go into the dark of the Mines. The rest of the Company was forlorn, and I was relishing the touch of the sun, the noise of the wind, the smell of the grass.

The sun fell as we came across a great stone ruin, with the waters of Kheled-Zaram lapping its shores, and the Walls of Moria looming over us all. We had reached the beginning of our final path to the other side of the Misty Mountains, but we had also reached the final path before disaster would strike the hearts of only Eight original Walkers. We had reached the site of the end of Gandalf the Grey.

* * *

Author's Note: Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	5. A Journey Down Under

Author's Note: I am _sooooooooooooo_ sorry that it took me _so_ long to update! I have been _super_ busy with practicing for my piano tests on Sunday and have been doing most of my schoolwork during school so I could update! Literally, all of my "free time" has been dedicated to piano and memorizing this one Liszt "Consolation" for Sunday...procrastination is my forte in piano...get it? :) Hope to have the next chapter up by Sunday night or earlier.

You guys are the best. More than 600 views and more than 10 reviews? If anyone had told me this was possible for one of _my_ stories, I would have denounced them crazy. Enjoy!

Now, reviews may not feed my soul, but they feed me, since I don't need meals! I need to update my story!

_Elvish:_

_Mellon-nin=My friend_

_Av-'osto=Don't be afraid_

_Guren glassui=Thank you from my heart_

_Mellon=Friend_

_Rhaich=Curses_

* * *

Chapter 4: A Journey Down Under

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," said Gimi proudly, and though I saw why he was proud of the dwarves' quite brilliant thought process, Legolas did not.

"Yes, Gimli, and their own masters cannot open them once their secrets are forgotten; but these doors were not made for only dwarves," said Gandalf, not aware of how many non-dwarves from my world knew the secret of Moria's doors through their nerdiness. "Here the Elven-way from Hollin ended. Holly was the token of the people of that land, and they planted it here to mark the end of their domain; for the West-door was made chiefly for their use in their traffic with the Lords of Moria. Those were happier days, when there was still close friendship at times between folk of different race, even between Dwarves and Elves."

"It was not the fault of the Dwarves that the friendship waned," said Gimli indignantly.

"I have not heard that it was the fault of the Elves," retorted Legolas.

"I have heard both," said the wizard, ever the peacemaker in the Fellowship, "and I will not give judgement now. But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends, and to help me. I need you both. The doors are shut and hidden, and the sooner we find them the better. Night is at hand!" I wished that Gandalf would not have to be so much of the reason that the Fellowship stuck together. Once he was out of the picture, the Ring could wreak its havoc undeterred and with no opposing force slowing its tendrils of malice, slipping in between the cracks in the Company and forcing them to crack even more.

The doors of Durin were not visible in the sparsely cloudy night sky, but a murmur from Gandalf, his hand sweeping over the doors, swiping away years and years of dust and grime from disuse, uncovered _ithilden_ which shone in the moonlight and the starlight. A shift in the cloud cover illuminated the stone with the silvery sheen of the moon and stars high above.

A bright white-silvery light lit up the engravings in the ages-old door, an entry way and passage way that was a symbol of friendship between dwarves and elves long ago. A carving that looked like trees wound around the pillars at the outside edge of the doors, representing the trees of the High Elves that once stood in Aman, the Undying Lands. The sign of Durin, an anvil and hammer surmounted by a crown and seven stars, lay above the Star of the House of Feanor, a star with sixteen points. Elvish runes were lit on the door frame top and gave the secret of the password away subtly.

Gandalf read the runes out loud, "It reads: The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak friend, and enter."

"What do you suppose that means?" asked Merry.

"Well, it is quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open," said Gandalf.

"What are you going to do then?" asked Pippin rather boldly, despite the redundancy of his question.

"Knock on the doors with your head, Peregrin Took," said Gandalf, "But if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will seek for the opening words."

And so the wizard began long and complicated chants in Elvish, trying in vain to open the doors. I sat there, on a rock nearby, and knew the answer to the riddle, but could not say anything. If I did, the Watcher in the Water would not be stirred, and we would not be forced to travel through Moria once we saw the dead bodies of dwarves and orcs and goblins littered inside. And who knows what would happen to the Fellowship after that?

I sat by Legolas, waiting for Frodo to figure out the riddle of the door. "_Mellon-nin_, you have been quiet. _Av-'osto_. We will not fall inside the depths of the mountain." I murmured.

"And how can you be so sure? There is an evil that Gandalf does not speak of. _You_ know what it is. Even _I_ do not know this threat, and I feel in the pit of my stomach a foreboding that I cannot ignore. Why do _you_ not feel so strongly that we are all _doomed_?" Legolas replied in Elvish, in a furious whisper.

"I know my words to be true in my heart. Can you not think with what your heart, and not your head, tells you? By all rights, Frodo should have passed into shadow when stabbed by the Morgul blade of the Witch-King of Angmar. But yet, he is here, and we are here, and not all hope is lost. Hope may not destroy the Ring, nor bring down Sauron or Saruman, but it rallies the forces of the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth against them. Hope shall not fade. Not yet, not ever. Trust me, I know," I said back calmly, continuing our conversation in Elvish.

"How can you know, though? There is nothing to be sure about. There is nothing in those mines," Legolas gestured with his hand towards the steep rocky cliffs, "that will not kill us. Do you not feel it in your bones?"

"Legolas. Calm. They are just mines, for all we know. Do not be so quick to let your spirits fall. All will be fine," I said, lying blatantly, though no one would know it was such a falsity. Legolas opened his mouth and closed it a couple times, reminding me of a very handsome fish, before inclining his head and smiling. He rested his hand on mine.

"_Guren glassui_," said the elf sincerely.

Sam had to let Bill the Pony head back to Rivendell, and was saddened by the farewell of the sturdy and cheerful pony. We distributed the content in the saddlebags as fairly as we could, though for sure, the pony would be missed not just for his constantly upbeat and carefree attitude, but also his strong back and legs.

Pippin threw stones into the deep and dark waters of the lake. Aragorn noticed and held the halfling's arm back as he readied to throw yet another. He warned him not disturb the water. Hah! Too late for that, buddy boy!

Everyone was passing the seemingly endless time in their own fashion, but I just stayed still, extremely aware of Legolas' hand resting on mine. He did not move it until it was time to head into the mines.

Hours passed as Gandalf tried, to no avail, to think up the password. He had just about given up when Frodo said, "It is a riddle! What is the Elvish word for friend?"

"_Mellon_," said Gandalf slowly, enunciating the word.

The doors swung outwards, and the dark of Moria was laid out before us.

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves. Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone! Look around. This my friend is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine; a mine!" exclaimed Gimli, joyful until Gandalf lit his staff and we saw the bodies, skeletons strewn about.

"This is no mine. It's a tomb," Boromir said, looking about. Gimli's saddened shouts of "No!" filled the entrance chamber of the mines. There was a heartbreaking and anguished tone in the dwarf's baritone cries.

Legolas bent down and snatched an arrow protruding from a dwarf skull's eye-hole. "Goblins!" All drew their weapons but me. The greatest danger here was not of orcs.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here. Now, get out; GET OUT!" Boromir said almost desperately.

We made to move out, and I drew my sword, moving closer to Frodo. Just then, a tentacle reached out of the water and winded around Frodo's ankle, pulling him towards its owner, the Watcher in the Water, an octopus-like creature who had a monstrous toothy mouth.

I swung at the tentacle with my sword and it severed, only to have the Watcher reach another for Frodo, and nearly grab me, too, if it wasn't for Legolas piercing the long, slimy, sticky extension with an arrow.

Calls of "Frodo!" and "Strider!" came from the Perenniath as the rest of the group started to notice something was amiss.

Boromir and Aragorn dove into the mass of writhing tentacles and slashed at the limbs of the beast while Legolas and I shot arrows at it from the bank. Gimli hacked at it with his mighty axe.

Eventually, we were able to make the thing release Frodo from high up in the air above its gaping maw, and Boromir caught the poor hobbit.

"Into the mines!" exclaimed Gandalf.

All went into the entrance yet again, as Legolas shot the Watcher in the Water in the face with a well-aimed arrow. It screeched, and as we ran into Moria, the who-knows-_how_-old creature pulled itself onto the shore, latching onto the doorframe with its tentacles, and the creature yanked the door frame down. Rocks fell, and we were trapped.

"We now have but one choice; we must face the long dark of Moria," said Gandalf solemnly. He lit his staff with light so that we could see in the darkness. A good thing, too. I flapped my hand in front of my face and couldn't see anything, even with my elven eyes, until Gandalf's staff emitted a faint white glow.

"Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world," Gandalf paused, "Quietly now. It is a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed.

The dark was deep, and I felt claustrophobic, as if the ceiling were going to cave in high above and fall on our heads. I _so_ did not do underground, dark, scary places. The mood was much the same with the rest of the Fellowship. Our procession was quiet and somber, and even the hobbits were not making much sound. Once or twice, Merry and Pippin quarrelled almost unnoticeably, and what they said when they made up was as if they were afraid of falling over the edge of the platforms we were walking on.

The path was, after all, thin. I saw why Bill the Pony could not have come with us; sometimes, even us two-legged creatures had trouble not falling over into the endless abyss below. Wooden bridges appeared here and there, though it was more like walking on thin, creaking, cracking boards held together by some rope rather than an actual bridge. How the dwarves used to live here, I would never know.

I walked near the front, and Legolas was at the back, so that we could see better as a group in all directions. Gandalf led us, of course, as he was the only one who had travelled through the mines before.

We rested not often, eager to get out of Moria. Once, though, I found myself sitting near Gandalf, and decided to ask about my ring. He, though, had other ideas.

"You say you are not from here," started the wizard, "so what is your world like?"

"Well," I started awkwardly and uneasily, "for one thing, there are no dwarves or hobbits or elves or wizards; just men. We have books that tell of this journey, and are renown by many there. I know them nearly word for word. We fight with short hollow poles that shoot many bullets, small projectiles that are very good at killing. We talk differently, and there is no magic. Only machines. Much of the nature has been removed for the growing and settling of Man's civilization." I spoke quietly, almost inaudibly.

Gandalf replied at the same volume. "I think that you should tell the Fellowship, soon, of the truth. If you do not, you may not say something correctly, or predict something that is to happen exactly, and our companions will find out the hard way of your deceiving them."

"I am sorry. I didn't want to tell anyone in the Fellowship earlier on; they would not trust me, and not let me go on this adventure if anyone knew."

"You may speak the truth. Yet I have a warning for you: do not tell anyone of what is going to happen, not even if it saves a life," I knit my eyebrows together at the words of the wizard, or rather more like at _who said them_, "and do not tell me if our story ends well or poorly. Let things go on as they did in your books." I nodded, not planning to have done otherwise, when I heard a sharp intake of breath from behind me. The wizard's eyes became even more serious and grim than before. I turned around and saw Legolas, nearer than any other members of the Fellowship, standing up as if he was coming over here and staring hard at me, before he turned around to go sit by Aragorn.

I turned around to look at Gandalf, tears threatening to break out, and he shook his head as if to say, "I had no idea he was there either. Sorry."

I drew my knees to my face and wrapped my arms and cloak around me. Why did I ever go on this thrice-damned quest?

* * *

Legolas POV:

I walked behind the hobbits in the very back. Merilieth, or rather, an imposter, was at the front still, with Gandalf. I couldn't understand how someone Aragorn and I had known for so long could have been so easily replaced by someone not even from Middle-Earth. She knew _everything_ about us! She knew everything that would happen. But how long had Mithrandir known?

I shook the questions from my head and tried to focus solely on our trek through Moria. Up ahead, Pippin displaced a stone in the stairs we were climbing and stumbled, but Merry caught him and encouraged him to go on. Thank goodness we had _real_ members in the Fellowship with _real_ friendships.

I had decided not to tell Aragorn; I needed to talk to Mithrandir first about the liar who had Merilieth's appearance.

We reached a platform with three archways leading to different destinations. Mithrandir spoke up, "I have no memory of this place."

While Mithrandir tried to think of the way to go, I saw my chance to question him about "Merilieth" and took it. We sat around and were left to their own devices, so I went up to talk to the wizard.

"Hello, Mithrandir."

"Hello, Legolas. I suspect that your visit is not for pleasure?"

"Yes, Mithrandir. I wanted to ask about Merilieth..." I said her "name" sarcastically and in a low tone of voice. No one else heard our conversation.

"She only wanted to meet and travel with people she thought she knew. She wanted to go on an epic journey. Could you blame her? Anyways, what else could she do? She is stuck in an unfamiliar land, and knows no one. She is unfamiliar with our customs, and only knows what her books said. Can you not look into your heart and find the will to forgive her? She was going to tell you before the end of the journey, but she did not want anyone to bear a grudge against her if anything bad happened," said the wizard wisely. I felt as if he was scolding me for being narrow-minded, and felt ashamed. Truly, a wizard is the best path to humility. Gandalf harrumphed and chuckled, his head shaking and his eyebrows rising, a smile forming, as if he could see into the recesses of my head.

He left me to my thoughts, I thought on his words, and came up with a decision.

* * *

Merilieth POV:

The blond elf who probably hated me walked up to me, his eyes staring straight past the point where I sat. He himself sat down opposite me and crossed his legs. He wasn't going anywhere soon, that was for sure.

I sat there, trying not to look at him, when he surprised me by talking to me. Before, he was on a stubborn campaign of the game, "Ignore the Elf". "I should not have judged you so rashly. I did not know the situation you arrived in, and let my feelings of friendship for Merilieth cloud my judgement. What happened to her, anyway?"

Legolas smiled at me, but a guarded smile that didn't reach his stormy grey eyes. "Gandalf tells me she is in my head, and is still alive. However, I can not feel her presence."

The elf nodded his head, and seemed pleased to hear that his friend of many years had not perished at a cruel trick of fate.

"Legolas?"

"Yes, Merilieth?"

"Whatever happens has to happen as it did originally in my books."

Legolas raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Of course. Otherwise, the outcome would not be the same, and I assume that would be bad for Middle-Earth. Yes?" Legolas tried to confirm his thoughts.

"Yes. So, forgive me if what happens is not favorable to you or anyone else in our Company," I said, trying not to frown and keep a straight face. I caught Boromir and Gandalf out of the corner of my eyes and fought the tears that threatened to well up.

Legolas looked at me and put a hand on mine like before we entered the accursed Mines of Moria. "Everything will be all right."

I looked away and nodded. Sure he would say that _now_, but what would he say after we encountered the Balrog.

"No..." I shook my head, and before Legolas could so much as look at me in surprise, before I could explain myself, we were moving again.

"Oh. It's that way!" Gandalf exclaimed, after talking quietly to Frodo about Gollum, as I knew.

"He's remembered!" said Merry with a mix of relief and reverence in his tone.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose," said the Istar. I smirked at the last jesting comment the Grey Wizard would ever make. At that gloomy thought, my heart felt as though it were being clenched in an iron grip that corroded away the mask of indifference I fought to keep on my face.

Off we went, and I walked in the back this time. My senses caught the glint of an eye, the flap of skin against rock, a breath of air where there was no wind. Gollum was following us.

Not long now. No, there would not be much time left before despair came upon the Fellowship and all hope departed. Nearby, my wandering mind imagined a figure floating in mid-air, cloaked in black and grey, and threatening to suck the joy out of the last hope for the world of Middle-Earth. The embodiment of Death, perhaps? I closed my eyes and shook my head. The ground at my feet was all I thought of for the next couple of hours.

As we trekked on and on, ahead, before Gandalf had even the chance to make his staff shine brighter, I noticed the majestic and tall pillars of the underground dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf. Everything was going according to Tolkien's words. That was all fine and dandy, but a bigger problem lay on the horizon for the keeping together of the Fellowship: the challenges of Moria and their consequences.

"Let me risk a little more light," said Gandalf, and the wizard made his staff emit a stronger and larger aura of brightness, and the Nine Walkers and I stared in awe of the beauty and grandeur and pure plain _epicness_ of the dwarven creation. I wondered, not for the first or last time, how the short-statured race created such unparalleled wonders out of stone. "Behold! The great realm and Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf."

"Now there's an eye-opener, and no mistake," said Samwise Gamgee, easily impressed, from a humble background, and still 100% correct in his assessment.

Gimli suddenly cried out and ran off to a room that was attached to the great hall we were walking through. Gandalf called out after him, but still Gimli ran, for he, like the rest of us, saw a ray of light shining where no light should shine, and probably recognized the room or its purpose or _something_. I had been hoping he wouldn't run off, but he did, and I could feel our journey start to unravel from the way it progressed. Oh, things were going to get _nasty_ now.

I walked into the room first, left hand resting on my sword hilt, for I had been the first to gain the sense to follow the dwarf into the small and sad room. Sad, because skeletons of dwarves slain cruelly surrounded a white tomb, which the light we had seen from the pillared hall rested upon.

Gandalf read the inscription in Khuzdul, the secret language of the dwarves, on the cover of the casket as Gimli cried out in sobs of anguish. "Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria. He is dead then. It is as I had feared."

This was one of the most heartbreaking parts of The Fellowship of the Rings for me. My face matched the tomb, stony, pale, cold, and hard; after all, crying for a dwarf death, as an elf, a dwarf whom I did not even know personally, would not be fitting. I swallowed hard.

A skeleton caught my eye that rested against the stone, a skeleton I knew to be Ori, who had gone on the quest to reclaim Erebor for the dwarves. He clutched a thick and dusty tome.

Gandalf handed Pippin his trademark hat and staff before picking up and opening the book, a couple of pages falling out from old age.

"We must move on," said Legolas quietly to Aragorn nearby, "we cannot linger."

The wizard read the account Ori wrote long ago of the fall of the few dwarves that remained alive on the journey to retake Khazad-dum.

"They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming," Gandalf looked up, and fear perforated the silence.

Just then, in the tense and close air of the room, Pippin touched a skeleton clad in armor, with a chain and heavy metal block attached to it somehow, and the head fell off, bouncing noisily against the sides of the well it was sitting on the edge of. The rest of the body followed right after, the chain and block rattling and thumping. All eyes were on Pippin, who wore a look of fear, shame, and watchfulness on his face. We all were watchful as we waited, expecting the silence around to break into goblin cries.

No change in the noise of the mines came, and I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding as the tension around the room dissipated into nothing. Gandalf snatched back his staff and hat from Pippin. "Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" The dude was _not_ happy.

Silence. Then...Boom. Boom boom boom. Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom. The beats of a drum rose and fell in volume, getting closer, getting faster, signifying an attack, and we were trapped in the very same room that many dwarves died in due to the creatures that were now aware of our presence, and honing in on us.

"Frodo," murmured Sam, and Frodo unsheathed his sword slightly to see a blue glow emanating from the blade. My knife and sword were glowing as well. After all, blades of Elvish make glowed when Orcs came near. At least, they did in the books.

"_Rhaich_," I swore under my breath.

"Orcs!" Legolas hissed, as the strained breath before the storm escalated into the tempest itself, and my calm demeanor vanished with it.

Boromir ran to the doors that led to the chamber. Two arrows embedded themselves near his head.

"Get back! Make room for Gandalf!" said Aragorn to the hobbits, waving a torch around, which reminded me of his epicness on Weathertop. Aragorn, epicness, we need you! I pictured Uncle Sam: the American poster figure, not the hobbit.

"They have a cave troll," said Boromir sarcastically, like, "We're _so_ screwed".

Legolas and the Men barred the door with axes and assorted weapons laying about the room near the corpses. I stood back and loosened my blades in their sheaths, and drew my bow and readied an arrow. All drew their weapons, and the ring of metal being drawn sounded.

"Let them come. There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!" growled Gimli with a certain kind of..._panache_. If only everyone could be a Gimli...

The doors shook and were beaten by orcs and goblins on the opposite side of the door. Axes and cruel, wicked sharp blades poked through the old wood. I positioned an arrow and drew back the string, holding a breath.

We could not get out. They were coming. We could not get out; they were _here_.

* * *

Author's Note: Cliffhanger! Sorry its a shorter chapter than usual; the next one will be longer and with action and lots of emotion. Excited to write that!

Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	6. TSotBotEotFotR

**Author's Note: **I have been _soooooooooooo_ busy. Well, on the bright side, I had not much work to do lately, so I typed this up, and I am sorry if it is shorter, but the next chapter is the Fellowship in Lothlorien, so that will be my regular ~5000 words.

Wow. More than 1000 views? Thank you so much, guys. You're the bomb. Anyone want me to do shout-outs? Because some of you reviewers out there with advice and long comments and the works really deserve it. :) Anyways, enjoy!

Now, review are words. Words that light up my day and the days that follow. Not asking. Just saying.

* * *

Chapter 5: The Spark of the Beginning of the End of The Fellowship of the Ring

Legolas, Aragorn, and I had already shot multiple arrows into orcs and goblins that came too close to holes they formed in the great wooden doors. Our little stinging sticks of wood tipped with unforgiving metal were holding them back, but not indefinitely.

Our foes finally broke down the tall, firm doors that barricaded the Fellowship away from their weapons and blows. They swarmed us like the pests they were.

I shot the arrow I had left in my bow unreleased, and put my bow away, drawing my sword and wielding its light mass with two hands.

The ugly maw of a goblin stuck itself in front of my vision as its owner swung a large axe at my face. I ducked and I felt the air whoosh over my head from the swipe.

My body stuck a leg out, and tripped the orc up. I stood and stabbed it in the back, thanking Merilieth's instincts.

After some victories with my blade, and many more fails, I gave up all forms of sword-wielding Legolas had taught me (that I still sucked at) and performed an "angry Luke Skywalker" technique: I swung my sword around like a bat against my opponents, and most found themselves chopped in half or beheaded.

One that didn't parried with his machete, and I kneed him in the soft spots that weren't covered in armor, and stabbed him in the stomach with my knife.

Still orcs poured forward, and I developed a one-mindedness to everything around me. I was focused, deadly, and probably really ugly in the heat of battle. I could just _see_ how weird my face must've looked: contorted and mouth open, I probably resembled an orc. Not that I didn't everyday...erhday.

Then a humongo cave troll lumbered in, led by a chain and collar held by a sneering goblin.

My vision widened and my tunnel-vision of battle disappeared, and I noticed the hobbits beside me. I sheathed my sword, went in front of them, and got my bow and an arrow out.

The monstrous, flabby beast roared, and I shot it inside of its cheek. Bulls-eye!

Except, now, it was pissed. And coming for me. Should've thought that one through a little more.

Legolas diverted the cave-troll's attention with an arrow to the shoulder, but now it was going for Sam, who dived under its legs after the troll smashed his spiked club on the ground near the Perian, confusing the idiotic big piece of ugly.

Gimli threw a throwing axe into the troll's chest, which only made things worse. The troll smashed his weapon onto Balin's final resting place which Gimli was standing on to get the advantage in height for once.

Gimli jumped off and rolled at impact, and the troll destroyed the tomb. I whacked at a nearby goblin in fury at the defiling of the stone marker with my bow. His head collided with another's and they fell.

The troll kept going after Gimli, and I aimed two arrows at it, and my aim hit true. It turned towards me.

It swung its club around and I ducked continually, not able to get away. I saw the wall behind me approaching fast, and focused on my ring. I directed a stream of magic to wind around the end of the huge and pointy club.

The magic did well in diverting the troll's club, and when I was about to hit him in the head with his _own_ club, Legolas _thought_ I was in danger and just _had_ to shoot two arrows at the cave-troll.

It went after him, and I retracted my magic and continued fighting with my bow and arrows. The bow was a good staff, too, for just whacking things in general. Especially orcs.

Meanwhile, Frodo had caught the troll's attention and was playing a game of cat and mouse with it. I stayed away and watched with a grimace plastered on my face as Frodo got skewered with a spear that Aragorn had lodged in the troll's chest beforehand.

The hobbits flipped out. I mean, they were jumping on the troll's back, and were total bosses. Me, I ran over to Aragorn who lay unconscious against a pillar, flung away by the troll after sticking a random spear in it. I tapped his shoulder, shook him, and when that didn't work, used my magic ring to slip some of the power into his ear.

I put away the magic for the second time in the skirmish as Aragorn jolted awake, shuddering and sticking a finger in the ear the magic had been in. By now, Legolas had shot the troll in the bottom of its throat, in the front, effectively killing it after much toil, and everyone's attention turned to Frodo.

Aragorn ran over to Frodo, and the sadness on everyone's faces was heart-wrenching. Despair hung around the room, strangely quiet to my ears after the intense battle with the troll and the goblins. The Ranger gently lifted the Perian onto his back and all were surprised, but me, to see he was breathing.

"He's alive," said Sam, relieved.

"I'm all right," said Frodo, putting a hand on his chest and panting deeply, "I'm not hurt."

"You should be dead. That spear would've skewered a wild boar," said Aragorn, amazed.

"I think there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye," concluded Gandalf, at who's words Frodo unbuttoned his shirt. I wanted to say, "Hobbit abs!" but I passed. Not the right tone and moment and whatnot.

"Mithril," said Gimli, astounded. After all, mithril _is_ rather crazy expensive and rare, though that was all of Moria's wealth before it got sacked by goblins. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins." The dwarf smiled under his beard.

Outside, my attention was brought to shadows moving in the faint light of the Mines, and goblin cries that echoed and intensified in the darkness of the large chambers of Moria.

"Frodo is not the only one full of surprises," I said, and as the Company looked at me, I gestured to the doors we were to exit from.

Gandalf ordered, "To the bridge of Khazad-Dum," and off we ran.

And ran.

And eventually, got surrounded by ugly goblins who seemed to come out of nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Some scuttled out of holes and tears in the ground, and others appeared from the tops of large pillars that were not beautiful, but ominous now, as if anything that could harm the Fellowship was lurking behind them. We looked back continuously as we ran at breakneck speed to get glimpses of the mob of goblins that followed closely at our heels.

We turned and ran and sprinted and did everything we could to evade being surrounded, but soon, we were in a circle-shaped clump, surrounded.

Our foes sneered and jeered and hissed, but a growl came from far off. Gimli gave a little victorious laugh as the goblins ran away, shrieking and yelling in their high-pitched voices, but I put a hand on his shoulder to try to vanish the thought from his head that our menacing little troop scared off all of the ugly little twerps. All of the Fellowship's heads turned towards a rumble that came from not too far off and a fiery light who's source was hidden by a corner.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir said quietly to Gandalf. A long pause followed as Gandalf's grip on his staff tightened and his shoulders stiffened.

"A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world," said Gandalf slowly, fearfully (though he tried to hide it, for the sake of the Fellowship, probably), "this foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

I ran at the back, so when Gandalf waited and stopped to be at the back of all the running, I observed him carefully, half by accident and half out of concern. The first thing I noticed was the impending doom in his eyes. His age was shown, for sure, as well. He was visibly exhausted and panting and looked like he needed to de-age a couple of years.

We got to a room with a vertical and seemingly bottomless drop, with narrow stairs winding about the edges, and Gandalf clasped Aragorn's shoulder, saying, "Lead them on, Aragorn." The wizard evidently knew his time in the Fellowship was limited. "The bridge is near." Aragorn heard the Balrog's roar behind us, and made to go back, but I only stood and watched as Gandalf pushed him back. "Do as I say! Swords are no more use here." On the ranger went, and the Istar shot me a meaningful glare.

As we went down the stairs, Gandalf hurriedly spoke to me, with a voice filled with a sense of the end for him, and also the tone that meant, "Listen and do as I say."

"You, Alex," I glanced at the wizard in shock when he used my real name, "Must give advice, and lead them on the right track. Do not let anything happen that would be ill for the fate of Middle-Earth."

I nodded in understanding as the Balrog came ever closer and closer and we ran ever faster and faster down the long flights of steps.

We came to a gap in the stairs, and Legolas and I leaped over it, and Legolas beckoned for Gandalf to do the same. Arrows whizzed from far off, meaning to bring down the Fellowship, and Legolas shot an arrow back. I joined in and helped to shoot back at our assailants while Legolas helped the others over the bridge.

Boromir, Merry, and Pippin came after the wizard, and Boromir helped out by taking his shield out to guard as much of the company as he could from the arrows. Ironic, really, considering his impeding and destined death.

Next Aragorn tossed Sam. The man then made as if to toss Gimli, but he roared, "Nobody tosses a dwarf!" and jumped over the break in the bridge. Legolas caught him by the beard, and Gimli gruffly cried, "Not the beard!"

Ah, dwarves and their beards. I smiled, but my attention was diverted from the goblins attacking us from afar, and Boromir stuck his shield out in front of my head, and stopped my head from becoming acupunctured.

"Thank you," I murmured, and Boromir inclined his head, when a loud cracking noise rang out to my left.

The bridge had broken, and the piece holding Aragorn and Frodo was swaying. They leaned forward, and were caught by their fellow members of the group as the ground they stood on lurched forward and crashed into our piece of the bridge, connecting briefly and forcefully.

We ran on as behind us, the slab of rock that once held our favorite ranger and ring-bearing hobbit fell into the deeps of the gaping hole that was now not an obstacle. However, the next obstacle would be worse than a broken bridge.

We came into a room ringed by fire as Gandalf shouted, "Over the bridge! Fly!" for a thin pass of rock spanned the chasm before us, and led to the outside of the Mines. It was not the Golden Gate Bridge, sure, but it was big and sturdy enough so that we all felt safe and secure...relatively.

I looked back to see Gandalf running from a monstrous figure of shadow and flame. The Balrog that was Durin's Bane. The curved horns on the side of its head framed its rearing maw as it breathed forth a stream of heat and flame. It followed us the whole way to the bridge, and once all of us were over it, there was still one who did not rush as he had told us to rush. No, the Grey Wizard stood his ground against the beast who would defeat him, and looked so badass, action movie characters would have been awed. Rocky wouldn't have taken on a Balrog of Morgoth, just saying.

"You cannot pass!" boomed the wizard. I heard Frodo shout, "Gandalf!" from beside me.

Then, the strangest thing happened. My ring started to vibrate, and it was as if I couldn't move. My head started to echo or something inside. That was when I became aware of Merilieth, who's presence in my head shouted, "Mithrandir!" Only a few seconds after my ring acted so strangely, it stopped, but Merilieth stayed. However, more action on the bridge shifted my attention to that and not to her. What great timing, to come out of her hiding place in my head when the Fellowship witnessed the end of Olorin, Mithrandir, the Grey Wizard, known to us as Gandalf, and most of all a great guide, wise advisor, and close friend.

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn!" Gandalf raised his staff and created a barrier of light around himself. The Balrog struck its sword of fire on Gandalf's barrier, only to have the shield of magic hold.

"Go back to the Shadow!" The Balrog cracked its whip menacingly, paying nearly no heed to the minuscule figure before it.

"You shall not pass!" Seemingly nothing happened, until the Balrog stepped forward and the bridge broke under him, and the mighty beast fell. Everyone-but me-sighed a sigh of relief that _that_ business was over.

What happened next seemed all but a blur. A fiery whip cracked up from the darkness below and wound around Gandalf's ankle, pulling him down and barely hanging onto the edge of the bridge he had just stood firmly on.

I distantly heard Boromir and Frodo shouting something, and though I knew from past Lord of the Rings movie marathons what they said, my brain just couldn't process it. I lurched forward and Legolas clutched my forearm to keep me from falling.

"Fly, you fools." So spoke Gandalf before he lost his grip, and slipped off the edge of the rock into the dark of the Mines of Moria. His figure sank swiftly into the depths of the Earth, and screams arose around me of grief and pain and loss. Mostly hobbit screams. Frodo...

I myself felt numb and heard ringing in my ears. Strange. I had never acted so when watching the movies or reading the books... A hand pulled me out of the caverns as I felt a wetness slide down my cheeks. No. No. No. I tried to repeat it to myself, but it didn't work on comforting me in my illogical denial; why would it? The Grey Wizard was gone.

* * *

The sunlight outside was not welcome. The wind on my face was ignored. The claustrophobia in the caves was wanted, for I only wanted to crawl into a tight space. All I knew was that I was curled up into a ball, my arms crossed, my face was buried in them, and I cried, silently for the most part and sobbing every now and then. Merilieth was also crying in my head. I shut her out, feeling angry for some reason, by just pretending she wasn't there. It was as if a barrier of steel separated us now, but I would ever always be aware of her from then on.

"Legolas, get them up." I heard Aragorn's voice.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir... I sobbed harder.

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs. We must reach the woods of Lothlórien. Come Boromir, Legolas. Gimli, get them up."

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked up through my tears to see Legolas.

"Up," he whispered, his eyes glazed and yet hard at the same time. There was no kindness like he had shown before, and just an aloofness that hurt, though it shouldn't have.

I grabbed his hand and didn't let go, so he turned around impatiently. Nearby, Frodo was being called for by Aragorn. We had to make for Lothlórien soon, very soon.

"Legolas, please," I whispered desperately, "I must ask for you to trust me that it is all for the good of Middle-Earth. Can you do that?"

"I am not sure I can. But in time I will."

And with that he drew his hand away, and left, his back tensed and his hands, though not balled up in fists, were stiff.

I got up, wiping the tears from my eyes, and shook my head quickly from side to side. Why did Gandalf ever have to die?

* * *

We walked and ran between Lothlórien and the Misty Mountains, and plains of lush green grass flew by us. I looked around, and appreciated the beauty for a while, until I caught Legolas' stumble. I raised an eyebrow, for elves did not stumble; they were a graceful and swift race. I caught him wiping across his face with the back of his hand as he recovered and continued.

He did not know how to process death; he was an immortal elf, for goodness sakes! But this wouldn't be the last death he had to witness, and after all, this death would have a better ending than all of the other deaths of his friends, kin, and companions.

The blonde elf looked back and saw me staring, and had an indifferent look on his face.

I tried not to show my hurt from the knowledge that I couldn't have saved Gandalf, no matter what, and mirror Legolas' mask, but a voice in my head broke that mask, if only for a moment. Legolas did not see.

"_You have allowed yourself to fall in love with him, mortal_." I reeled from the feminine, yet sharp, voice and its echoes in the mostly hollow chambers of my brain.

"_Who is this...Merilieth_?" I thought slowly and clearly, if that was possible, not sure if she would catch the words.

"_You are not as dull as you appear, human. Yes, I am the one who's body you took, and quite frankly, I would like it back. But when Mithrandir died_," her thought-voice saddened, "_any chance of that happening disappeared_."

"_Merilieth, may I burden you with a a question_?" I was timid when I asked, aware I was burdening her enough with using her lithe form.

"_Yes_."

I pondered the right words as I ran, thankful for being an elf and not the out-of-shape nerd I was back on Earth. "_You know Legolas better than I. Will he stay mad at me_?"

"_Not if you tell the truth. Wait until you have spent some time in Lothlórien, for the time spent there heals most any wound, or mends it greatly, whether it be physical or mental. You must tell the Fellowship, and see what shall happen after that. If they will not trust you, or hate you, it is only you who is to blame for that, for you did not tell them in the first place. I do suspect, though, that the Periannath you travel with will accept you. Anyone else? Maybe the dwarf, of he finds out you are not an elf after all_," her voice sounded jesting, but I felt anything but. Queasy, yes. Nervous, yes. Funny? No. Definitely not.

I nodded to the air, and Merry looked up at me as if I was crazy, but I thanked Merilieth as she withdrew. She grunted.

The forest of Lórien was before us, with its golden-leaved Mallorns and calm, untroubled, peaceful air. Peace would finally, once again, be surrounding the group. My thoughts, however, were anything but peaceful.

Who knew about_ Merilieth's_ opinion, but _I_ was pretty sure the Fellowship would hate me after I revealed the truth. Oh well.

* * *

Author's Note: Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	7. You Want the Truth?

**Author's Note:** Well, a new chapter. A longer one than the last, for sure. The Hobbit movie came out for buying on iTunes, and that's what I've been doing, which is sad, but true. Sorry about the wait. All of the work I skipped updating every other day earlier on in the story caught up to me as well. But, I hope you like it! Enjoy! XD

Reviews: An author's bane and an author's soul. My soul is empty. Please fill?

* * *

Chapter 6: You Want the Truth? You Can't Handle the Truth!

I walked into the forest with the rest of the Fellowship, leaves shaking in the wind around the edges of the enchanted woods. I looked around, enjoying the beautiful vegetation, but also waiting to hear the whisper of a soft footstep or the breath of movement caused by lithe elven figures. There was no doubt about it; we were being watched. I could feel it in my stomach, a tingle that spread from my head to my toes. Was this what being stalked felt like?

I heard Gimli say from behind me, "Stay close, young hobbits! They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods. An Elf-witch, of terrible power," I resisted the urge to go all nerdy fangirl on Gimli and explain, in detail, who Galadriel, the elf the dwarf was talking about, really was, "All who look upon her fall under her spell, and are never seen again." Ah, the misconceptions of dwarves.

A whisper came, not from the world around me, but in my head. "_A magic ring you bear. You...are not Merilieth_." I swore to myself silently after what must've been Galadriel's voice spoke. Didn't Gandalf say that the chick who had this form hated magic rings? "There goes everything," I thought to myself bitterly. I pulled up my hood, nervous of anyone in the realm of Lórien recognizing me.

"Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox."

Once Gimli was done praising his not-so-wonderful-as-he-claimed senses, an arrow pointed at my face. It was so for the rest of the Fellowship as well, and Legolas pointed an arrow right back. What a _smart_ thing to do. After all, it's not like we were _surrounded_. Ah-_hem_.

"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark." Aragorn bowed slightly, showing respect before the Marchwarden of Lórien.

"_One of them. I am too, human_." Merilieth decided to chime in with great timing once again, pointing out her role in the upkeep of Lórien. I shushed her with a thought.

Before Aragorn could say anything, Haldir turned towards me. "Merilileth, I am glad to see you are unharmed," he said in Elvish, smiling and turning back to business as usual. Well, not so usual.

I looked down until we started to go into the interior of Lothlórien. I walked next to Gimli, who clearly didn't like that we were actually _going_ into the enchanted forest of the _big bad elves_.

"I promise you, Master Dwarf, that you would like Lothlórien very much once the rumors that wander in and out of the lands outside have passed through your mind and heart and leave, forever to quaver before the beauty of the Lady," I said to Gimli softly, so as not to get Haldir's attention once more.

"Bah! You are an _elf_, after all. Of course _you_ would think so. Pretty words shall not change my mind that this forest was not a good idea from the beginning of the plan to come to. I do not like this place at all, lass," said the thick-necked dwarf, who would change his mind before the end of our stay in Lorien, whether he liked it or not. But he'd like it. And more than that: a dwarf would come to appreciate the beauty of the oldest, wisest, and fairest elf in the East. But then, Elrond... I smiled to myself at my little obsession with the dude.

Boromir came near Gimli and I and leaned over to whisper, "I have heard tales that once you look into the eyes of the Lady of the Wood, you can not leave, and you are forever bewitched by her. Is this so?" His voice held a trace of doubt nor fear, but also a hint of wonder, probably from all of the rumors he had heard.

"No. The Lady, if she bewitches you, shall only bewitch you with her kindness and fairness. She won't bite," I said nonchalantly.

"I know she won't bite," said Boromir, confused, "is this a saying of the elves?"

I swore at myself at my slip into the culture of Earth, and smiled a strained smile at Boromir.

"No, just one of my own, odder sayings." Not completely a lie. Not like anyone else in Middle-Earth was from my home.

Boromir nodded in understanding, and the rest of the trip was spent in silence and a sense of awe at the natural wonder of the forest.

Tall Mallorn trees tipped with golden leaves and covered with a light grey bark rose to an unmeasurable height above, towering over us all, and also giving me a sense of safety. The path was easy to traverse, and the air, though cold, was pleasant. The frigid and biting wind outside of the woods did not touch our weary bodies, and the breath of the air of Lothlórien rejuvenated me with its fresh touch and pleasant scent of pine and mist.

Soon, night fell, and we all needed a rest, except for maybe Haldir and his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin. _They_ didn't run through a fourth of Moria, witness Gandalf's fall, and then high-tail it who knows _how_ far to reach where we were now. Unlike us. A sigh escaped my lips when I thought of how _sore_ I would be tomorrow.

High above, platforms with _no railings_ were perched high up in the trees. The hobbits climbed up onto one with Haldir and his brothers, and the rest of us climbed into the platform, which the elves called a _talan_, in a tree next to the hobbits'. Legolas and I were told in hushed whispers beforehand to keep an eye on the dwarf, who had to have been argued for to stay with the rest of the Fellowship. After all, elves and dwarves didn't mix _too_ well, usually.

This night was not a fun night, an understatement of great magnitude. I slept, or tried to, near the very edge of the _talan_, _way_ too high above the ground, away from Legolas. Every time I got near him, it was just so _awkward._

So, besides the massive distance between me and the ground, Merilieth also kept me awake in my head, talking and talking and talking.

"_Do not isolate yourself with Haldir, Orophin, and Rúmil. They know me very well, and should be able to tell that you are not me. Lady Galadriel already knows of your ruse, so try not to let anyone else find out until the pain of Mithrandir's passing has somewhat faded from the others' hearts. And, for goodness sakes, could you_ try _not to be so friendly with the dwarf_?"

I scowled at her last comment and ruffled in my bag for my Blackberry and headphones. I turned on some random song, ironically a Lord of the Rings song. "_Into the West_."

"_What can you see...on the horizon..._" I hummed to myself, drawing the attention of Legolas. My hood was up, so he didn't see the headphones. He walked over. I stuck my hand in my inside cloak pocket that hid the phone and hurriedly paused my music blindly, used to the motion, so if he talked I would hear clearly.

"Why could you not have told us? We could have saved Mithrandir. We could have..." Legolas looked confused and lost, not understanding death or why anyone had to die. I was sympathetic, as he _was_ an immortal elf who not often expected these things to happen.

"Legolas...I am sorry. I never meant to..."

Legolas was silent at my hesitation.

"I couldn't have helped him, even if Sauron himself held me at sword point."

The awkward silence lasted through the night, but Legolas did not move.

* * *

I sat there, unmoving, for a long while before cries penetrated the night. Orcs, coming to Lothlórien after us. I wasn't worried though. I trusted in Haldir to gather a force to guard the forest's borders.

The cries and heavy footfalls vanished from my hearing when the sky visible through the canopy of the trees had considerably lightened. The last star faded away in the brilliance of the sun, who's rays penetrated through the yellow leaves and cast a warm golden light onto the forest floor. Haldir soon came for us to continue our journey into Lothlórien.

Birds sang all the brighter as we continued and the wind became soft, caressing our faces with its cool hand, and not and slicing like a knife at our cheeks. The air had scents of the forest, but also something else in its invisible and light mass, something that would even lighten Frodo's heart, what with his hidden burden.

However, I couldn't long enjoy the sights around me, as events that soon came to pass proved.

We had crossed over the icy cold river Silverlode on a thin rope that served as a bridge. Pippin, usually the one to mess stuff up, was surprisingly good at this. Sam, however, inched across slowly and shakily, trying not to look down but ultimately failing.

"Now, friends," said Haldir calmly, "you have entered the Naith of Lórien, or the Gore, as you would say, for it is the land that lies like a spearhead between the arms of Silverlode and Anduin the Great. We allow no strangers to spy out the secrets of the Naith. Few indeed are permitted to set foot there. As was agreed, I shall here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf. the others may walk free for a while, until we come nearer to our dwellings, down in Egladil, in the Angle between the waters."

Gimli, needless to say, was not a happy camper at this point.

"The agreement was made without my consent. I will not walk blindfold, like a beggar or a prisoner. And I am no spy. my folk had never had dealings with any of the servants of the Enemy. Neither have we done harm to the Elves. I am not more likely to betray you than Legolas, or any other of my companions." I agreed with him, and made to say something in his defense, when Merilieth hissed at me to be like her and hate on dwarves.

So it was soon decided, with no lack of tension in the free air, that we would all go blindfolded. The dark cloth was put over my eyes, and I heard Haldir, who put the blindfold on, whisper "I am sorry."

I did not reply, but merely hummed quietly as a response. Darkness fell over my sense of sight. I did not struggle or wriggle about, to find my position relative to the others of the Fellowship. Instead, I stood still and relied on my even more heightened senses due to the loss of sight. The brush of a leaf on my ankle as we walked, the noise of the echoing wind, the scent of...oh. Methinks a certain dwarf needed a bath. Very badly, too. Yuck. How often _did_ he bathe?

Onward we went and none feared being bumped into, for the elves led us on safely and surely. The ground lay flat and smooth beneath our feet and I relaxed, listening to the beauteous sounds of nature. However, even my elven ears did not detect a silent host of elves behind us that treaded with light footsteps upon the undergrowth. It was them who had dispatched the orcs that had followed the Fellowship before.

Haldir explained this and other things to us. "Also, they bring me a message from the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim. You are all to walk free, even the dwarf Gimli. It seems that the Lady knows who and what is each member of your Company. New messages have come from Rivendell perhaps." Our blindfolds were removed promptly. My eyes uncovered, I sought the source of the stench I sniffed earlier, only to see it to be Aragorn. I giggled quietly.

Before us stood the stairway that would take us to Galadriel and her mate, Celeborn. I stared in awe at the tall, winding structure that shone with many lights, shimmering with a hint of transparency. Flowers were dotted here and there in shades that were not seen on Earth, blues and whites and lavenders that swayed dreamily, spreading their scent over our heads.

The climb up was long, and even at the slow pace, the hobbits with their short legs and relatively round stomachs seemed to have a little trouble after a while. Gimli with his heavy armor and weapons must've had an even harder time, yet he went uncomplaining and even encouraged the hobbits in his blustery dwarvish way.

We reached a platform with a white and open on the sides, intricately designed dome-thing. The beauty of Lothlórien, however, with its natural wonder, was nothing compared to the Lord and Lady of the Wood walking down the stairs of the structure gently and gracefully.

They shone with a light aura that radiated peace and love and all of the nice things that were kept in the hearts of the good in Middle-Earth. The Lady Galadriel looked into my eyes, and I felt as if they were looking into my soul.

Aragorn inclined his head in respect, and I followed suit, urged by Merilieth, it seemed, to get down on one knee and bow to the fair elven pair.

I rose once a short moment had past, again of Merilieth's accord. I hissed angrily at her inside of my head, telling her not to _ever_ control me like that again unless my life was at stake. She just shushed me impatiently, so she could hear the words of her Lord and Lady. Goody-two shoes.

"The Enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone." Celeborn paused. "Nine there are here, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

I looked down at my feet, away from his face, and closed my eyes. In front of me, Legolas slouched slightly.

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into shadow," said Galadriel in a soft voice.

"He was taken by both shadow and flame," said Legolas heavily, "a Balrog of Morgoth." As his words sunk in, a sad silence blanketed all other things. "For we went needlessly into the net of Moria." Gimli looked down slowly.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," said Galadriel, seeing Gimli's hurt and pain, "We do not yet know his full purpose." Gimli sighed as the Lady paused for a moment, looking around at the Fellowship's individual faces. She met mine like all others. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-Dum fill your heart, Gimli son of Gloin." At his own language, Gimli looked up. "For the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands love is now mingled with grief."

She looked at Boromir piercingly, and the Man of Gondor held back shudders.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship? Without Gandalf, hope is lost." Celeborn's monotone voice hid emotion.

"The quest stands on the edge of a knife. Stray but a little, and it will fail, to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while the Company is true," Galadriel paused and looked off into the distance, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

A whisper rang in my head, one that was not as soft as the owner's voice. Galadriel.

"_You may deceive us all, yet I do not sense that your heart is untrue, mortal. I hope that you do not fail this quest like I have perceived it to be. Be honest to the Fellowship, for otherwise, the Quest will di_e."

* * *

We sat at the nook of a tree, resting calmly and peacefully, for once. We had spent several days resting in Lothlórien, and the grief of Gandalf's end had not yet faded from our hearts, but had definitely not seemed so deep. It was then that Galadriel called for me near midday, when I was practicing archery with Legolas. He had still been closed off, and I had been alike. It was Aragorn's suggestion that we did so, for the sake of keeping our skills up.

Haldir appeared from beyond the archery range gates. "Merilieth, the Lady requires your presence." He led me with a gesture of his head to follow him. I spared no glance at Legolas as I collected my arrows from the middle of the target and left.

He led me to a little glade, with a basin filled with clear, passive water in the middle, perched upon stone. The Lady of the Wood stood before it, opposite us.

Haldir excused himself and I bowed before Galadriel.

"You are not Merilieth, correct?" I stared at her sudden boldness.

"No...no I am not. But...how...?"

"How do I know this? You are not quite like Merilieth, not in mind. Not at all. What is your real name, child?"

I blanched. "Um...Alex Forths? I'm not from here. I'm sorry, my lady, is that why you called me here?"

"No. You were called here to look into the Mirror. It shows things that have come to pass, and also things that have yet to happen. It shows the present as well. I think that you must look, for maybe it will reveal why exactly you were summoned to Arda."

Her words were spoken with a normal and calm tone of voice, yet held an urgency I couldn't ignore.

I walked forward hesitantly towards the basin. I peeked over the edge of the bowl, and saw something I didn't expect.

* * *

Fire. Lots of fire. Flames licked around the edges of the image as Boromir stood in Gondor with Theoden, the King of Rohan, and Boromir's brother, Faramir. But something was not right. Aragorn was there, too. So...shouldn't Boromir and Theoden have died by then?

But they weren't dead.

The white city of Gondor, Minas Tirith, was crumbling, slowly but surely, to the ground. Its white purity was tainted by a dark sky above and a ray of angry red light shining on the gathering of Men. The rest of the Fellowship was nowhere to be seen.

Outside of the city's walls, a battle raged, of fiercer intensity than the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. The frame spanned out, and only Frodo, no Gollum or Sam, lay weak and motionless in the midst of Mordor. The Ring was gone from his neck.

The image zoomed in close to a trio of fighters defending the gates of the White City in vain. I gasped...Gimli and Legolas stood defending me from a barrage of orcs. First Gimli fell, and then Legolas. Tears sprang from my eyes as feet ran over our limp pile of bodies, to be cold forever more.

The frame blurred to show Aragorn, Theoden, Faramir, Eomer, and Boromir being publicly executed before all of their troops, their loyal men. Their cities. Their loved ones.

The executioner was Sauron himself.

A glint of gold shimmered in the air near the handle of the axe in Sauron's hand as the blade fell and heads rolled.

* * *

I wrenched myself away from the water, panting, sobbing, crying, trying not to appear weak before the Lady of Lórien.

I failed.

"That is what shall come to pass should you try to change the fate of anyone in Middle-Earth. Should you not tell anyone of your true past, a similar doom shall befall the Fellowship as it will crumble, not knowing who to trust."

"I...c-could not b-b-be the cause of all th-th-th-this, right? I m-m-mean..." I sighed and stuttered, words ungracefully falling out of my mouth like boulders in an avalanche.

"If the Fellowship breaks, all shall fail. You must tell the Fellowship of the truth.

* * *

And so I did. I returned from my meeting with Galadriel during their supper and told them.

"What do you mean, you are not from here?" Pippin asked, his mouth full of mushrooms.

"Why haven't you told us this before, when you first met us?" asked Merry.

"So you are not an elf?" Gimli asked gruffly.

Aragorn motioned with his hand to go one at a time.

"Why would you trick us?" asked Boromir. Great, the one guy I wanted to feel good and trusted before his untimely death.

"I had to. My duty is to make sure the Quest goes on as it did in my books, but I can not tell you of what is to come. Trust me, I wish I could. Alas, Arda's destiny should change for the worse if I did. Fate is cruel, but should not be meddled with. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," said Gimli, "for you wish to destroy the Ring, and help the Ringbearer. That is all that matters, no matter if you are an elf, a dwarf, or a woman." Ironic, this coming from the elf-prejudiced dwarf.

"I agree. You have proved to be a useful member of the Fellowship." Boromir spoke up.

"You are a good friend," said Frodo, smiling.

"It is not as if you could have done anything about Gandalf's fall into Moria. Gimli is right," Aragorn said, staring at me and stroking his stubble, "though you have not been truthful in the beginning, you are now, and that is really all that matters."

The Ranger put a better-smelling-than-before hand on my shoulder and smiling, nodded. His eyes, though, were watchful. All of their eyes were.

* * *

The days passed slowly, and I spent much of them sparring with Boromir. One day, I had beat him, though I usually didn't.

The session had begun like any other, with our swords clanging dully, being wrapped in fabric as a safety measure.

Boromir had feinted at my legs, and swung at my torso. I blocked the strike but fell backward a couple of paces away. He took advantage of this and sliced down.

Then, I heard Merilieth think, "_Oh, stop_."

She took control and blocked Boromir's swing. I didn't have any control as the elf inside my brain tripped Boromir up with my sword and jumped over his body lying on the ground.

The Man of Gondor pushed himself up to block a strike Merilieth had aimed for his head and he swung back at my body which jumped back, hissed, and dodged around Boromir and pointed my sword point at the back of his neck. He froze after he slowly turned around.

"Good job," said Boromir as he gingerly lowered my sword with his hand. "It seems like you are back in practice."

"Well, I must thank you and Legolas for helping me improve my swordfighting skills."

The Man smiled and went off, sweating and smelly, after bidding me a farewell.

Behind me trod soft footsteps on the short, smooth grass.

"You have increased in ability since the beginning of your stay in Middle-Earth," said Galadriel. I turned and bowed to her.

"That was Merilieth, my Lady."

"Yes, the style appeared more like hers." Galadriel stared at me, her blue eyes as deep as the Western ocean and as clear, pristine, and pure as her Mirror. "But, I have come for something else entirely. Your ring. It was the first clue, for me, that you were not Merilieth."

"How did you know I had it?" I looked down at my gloved right hand that had only a slight bump at the beginning of my middle finger.

"I sense it, as you should know of a Ring of mine." Nenya, the Ring of Water, untouched by Sauron's spreading malice, yet a Ring of Power all the same.

I nodded. "What is this?" I took off my glove and fidgeted with my ring.

"It is a ring of knowledge. The more you know, the more things you can imagine, the more powerful it grows. It is bonded to you," said Galadriel. I stared at the mithril band in awe.

"Yes, it will prove useful, but I suggest less time sparring, since Merilieth can always help you, and more time reading and learning. Look into the magic of our world, and learn."

The Lady of the Wood pulled a book out from behind her back, an old tome that looked as if it had only recently been dusted from the toll of disuse. She handed it to me.

The title, in Elvish, read, _Magics of Arda_, and the volume was thick and surprisingly sturdy for its obvious age. The worn leather cover was soft to my already gentle and soft elven hands.

I looked up, and Galadriel had vanished. In her place, a golden mallorn leaf fell to the ground. The time of the elves was fading. Men would rule the world as all other races went into their final homes.

I inhaled sharply in shock as I realized why I had been forced into an elf's body. My time here was not permanent, no. And neither was Merilieth's, or any other elf's. They would go into the West. I was a symbol of the end of the elven time of Arda. The end of all races besides Men in Middle-Earth.

The forest around me faded as a tall and majestic figure stood before me, her face hidden by a silvery, enveloping mist.

* * *

**Author's** **Note:** Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	8. It's All Talk

**Author's Note:** Oh gosh...it's been so long. I got so behind on this chapter and wanted to make it nearly or as long as my first couple of chapters, and just got a massive case of writer's block. Had to delete, like, half of the chapter and rewrite it because it was just bad. Writer's block...*shudder*. Anyway, I want to start to do shout-outs in this section of the chapter, and so I will start with this chapter. I don't, after all, want to make reviewers feel like they are being ignored. I think I'll usually refer to reviews from the chapter before, but I'm going to refer to all who have reviewed this time. Here we go... :)

**Theta-McBride:** Thanks for sticking with the whole story, and glad to know that you like my story.

**Fann:** Thank you for all of the suggestions! I'm glad I'm not the only one on FanFiction who thinks that a sudden jump into romance with Legolas is somewhat absurd in terms of reality... So you say that you have a suggestion for Boromir not dying? Hmm...*strokes chin thoughtfully* ;)

**darkness:** Thanks for reviewing and encouraging me to write more!

**lotrjessusfreak:** Thank you for commenting on the "legomance", as you put it! Glad to know my bad romance-writing-skills come across the way I want them to!

**EGilly:** I didn't know what Legolas would do, either! Ahahah.

**RescueAngel:** I kept them coming, all right! Hope they were good!

**AmSaja:** It's awesome that you think of my story as "different" and "refreshing"! Now I just have to make it even more so!

**SummerAngelz:** I love "Mr. Anderson" inside jokes as well! I can't resist, much like Alex, saying "Mr. Anderson" after everything Hugo Weaving, just in general, says. Sounds like a good cookie joke!

**Marine76:** I saw your review and felt bad about not updating, so I jumped over my Writer's Block and cut it in half!

WOW. Thanks to everyone for reviewing, multiple times for some of you! You are all just so awesome, you have no idea! Enjoy the chapter! :)

Reviews are the reason for many hours of my happiness. Has my writing earned such joy?

* * *

Chapter 7: It's All Talk

I had expected to see Varda, the Queen of the Valar, and judging from all of the Mary Sue FanFics I had ever read, she would be telling me about how I was a central figure to the Quest and how Legolas and I or whatever were destined for each other.

Nah. It was an elven maiden, and outside of the forest, rain fell and humidity caused a mist that took in the colors of the tree bark.

"Do you wish to have a meal with your friends?" the _elleth_ asked, curtsying.

I curtsied back and nodded, thanking her as she led me to the rest of the Fellowship to eat.

I was the last one there, (go figure for awkwardness) and took the remaining seat between Merry and Boromir. The food came, and I picked at it, disheartened, realizing that the only reason I was shoved into Middle-Earth was for symbolism. Was I in a FanFic or something?

At least I wasn't a Sue.

Boromir noticed my dejected meat, cheese, and dressing-less salad and asked quietly, "Is something the matter? Your appetite is not as...full...as it usually is. Is there something bothering you?"

I stared at him, slightly raising an eyebrow, before shaking my head and mumbling about how I wasn't all that hungry. I made an effort to finish my lettuce and tomato arrangement for the sake of health, and excused myself quickly when Aragorn started to talk about what would happen once we left Lothlórien.

I climbed up a rope ladder into a _talan_, and looked down despite my fear of heights. The forest floor looked like a smooth velvet carpet from where I was, and I was reminded of my soft stuffed sheep at home. Marvin and Buster and Dinner...yes, I had named a stuffed lamb named Dinner. What of it?

...Home. Sitting there up in the trees so beautiful, and yet so foreign, I finally had calm and peace and a moment to myself. It was something I had wanted since starting a journey with nine smelly men, but now didn't want alone time at all, for I started to feel homesick.

I was before too busy to be homesick, too frightened for my life or immersed in my thoughts, but now, staring at strange golden leaves, I thought of the childhood treehouse I frequently visited when visiting my parents. I thought of just _watching_ the Lord of the Rings movies and not being forced into them. I thought of my little brother, still in high school, a junior in Marching Band with a sax, just like me, and yet so different. Cool and calm and not a nerd. Athletic, could fence...should've been a Gary-Stu right there, right then.

Most of all, I thought of my cool friends, my happy-go-lucky parents, and my caring boyfriend.

Would I ever see them again? Who knew? Was anyone even aware that I was here?

My stream of thought was interrupted by a swishing of the rope ladder as someone climbed up it. I felt tears on my cheeks and wiped them away quickly before Boromir's head popped through the hole in the platform. He pulled himself up and sat down in front of me.

"I hope I am not interrupting anything."

"No, no. Why would you be interrupting? I am here alone, as you can see," I said, motioning to the empty space around me, which then felt more claustrophobic than the Mines. My loneliness and introvertedness were made ever more apparent.

"I just wanted to mention, that even though you were untruthful, that does not mean the Company's trust is completely out of reach. I am sure that we will trust you again before long," Boromir said, his voice firm, but his voice staying grim. I noticed how he said "we". Encouraging, Boromir, great pep-talk.

Even as I thought my sardonic words, I looked closely at his face and saw a man who was being tempted by that accursed Ring even as he sat and spoke. It was wreaking havoc on his mind. He had not joked around with Merry and Pippin lately, he rarely smiled, and his eyes hid secrets from the world outside of his deepest and innermost thoughts.

"Enough about what troubles me. Boromir, what is on your mind? You can tell me. Remember, I know everything that will happen. Do not fear I shall think badly of you."

The stubborn and proud Man of Gondor sat there silently, though his mind was not passive. I could almost see the gears in his brain turning. To trust someone from a strange land? Or not?

After a moment of consideration that seemed like forever to me, he spoke. "When she," a significant pause gave me time to realize he was talking about Galadriel, "looked into my eyes, she spoke of how Gondor was in grave danger should the Quest be unsuccessful. My mind was all too ready to believe her. Before, I and my honor would never have given in to the mere words of an elf."

So. The Ring was already weakening and corrupting Boromir's strong mind to a Ring-wanting mush of grey matter. And that grey matter would believe anything. Time to make it believe in hope.

"Do not worry. The Quest _shall_ succeed."

"Do you _know_ this for sure, or are you merely trying to encourage me to stay spirited for the journey ahead?"

"To know is to be sure, but to be sure is not to know, and I do think I am sure," I thought of what Gandalf would say in situations like these, and kind of failed at the Gandalf-emanating. Maybe it was the pipe weed? I would ask a hobbit for some later. I needed mellowing urgently, anyway.

"I think I understand." Good for you, dude. Because I had no idea what I said.

"Is the wood not beautiful?" I asked Boromir after an interlude of silence betwixt us.

"It is. Though, in my eyes, the greatest beauty is of my city, with tall white towers and walls before a tall cliff. I, only personally, though, think this. The Woods of Lórien are quite a site to behold. Its beauty, not just itself, is magical." Yet a glint of longing for his city was in the Man of Gondor's eyes.

"You miss your home." My statement neither a question nor an assumption; it was just that, a statement.

"Yes; however, I think everyone feels so," Boromir said, "and you should feel so most of all, yes?"

I stared at Boromir in agreement, and nodded. "Probably. Unlike any of you, I do not know how to get home, and it is a long way away. An immeasurable distance sits between my home and me."

The dusty-brown-haired man put a hand on my shoulder in comfort as I sighed from the gloomy prospect.

"At least you are with friends."

Hah.

I smiled at the Man before a quiet fell again. It was not a tense silence, but rather a relaxing lull as the light of the forest turned from the soft golden-pink of the sunset to a deep blue lit by elven lights and lanterns.

Time passed slowly in the silence. After what seemed like hours but was in actuality, as I found out later, half of one, I bid Boromir a good night and he bid the same to me as he climbed down to the ground to go off about his business.

I pulled out and opened the book that Galadriel had given me earlier, that I had been holding discreetly, hiding the cover from the rest of the Fellowship.

The author's name was not written on any page, but it seemed like there was no room anyway. The writing was small and crammed onto the pages, neat yet barely legible due to its tiny size.

I turned to the first page after flipping through the tome rapidly. It seemed to be a history, not just a how-to guide, on magic.

The history was all the stuff I had already read before, on Earth, so I flipped to the more mysterious workings of magic.

It started with how to summon the magic from the object holding it. I squinted at the text before skipping several pages altogether, having done the summoning stuff already.

The next section branched off into countless chapters and subjects. I skipped ahead to the section about ring magic, barely straining to see the small font in the lanterns lit well the area about them and beyond. My elven eyes also did _not_ hurt with reading in the dim light.

The sub-section said:

**When dealing with rings of knowledge, it is important to not strain your thought when using the ring. Only do feats that you can imagine with the amount of wisdom and knowledge you have. Learning and heightening the depth of your mind shall make the ring more powerful.**

All stuff I knew.

**Rings of knowledge were often used as translators when races who negotiated could not speak each other's tongues.**

No wonder I could understand Westron.

**They are now rarer. Not many are known to exist, and are extremely protected by their owners, often elves, who of all the races, have the most time to learn and become more knowledgeable.**

Hmmph. Another reason to be turned into an elf.

My reading was interrupted by a messy-haired and rough-faced head poking through the _talan_.

"Merilieth," began Aragorn, "or Alex, or whichever you prefer, we are talking as a Fellowship. Come."

I nodded and hid my book between me and the rope ladder when I climbed down and held it behind my back when I walked to the rest of our Company with Aragorn.

He looked at it curiously, but my hands shifted to hide the cover. He didn't notice the bump in my glove on my right hand.

* * *

"We, sadly, must leave soon. Our stay in Lothlórien cannot be drawn out any longer."

"Yes Aragorn, but where does our path lead? East or West?"

The Ranger paused at Legolas' question.

We had gathered to talk about where to go after we ended our rest in the Enchanted Wood. All were sad to leave, even, surprisingly, Gimli.

"We should travel on the great river Anduin. That way we would not have to decide on our final path until later." I could see Aragorn hating being a leader; he wasn't used to it. Tough luck kiddo; you're going to lead Gondor, not just eight mismatched schmucks.

"We would need to choose before the Falls of the Rauros. It would be several days until then, however," Boromir chimed in helpfully. I nodded in agreement, trying not to think about the manner in which we would leave the Falls, though Boromir never would. Dark thoughts crept into my mind and I pulled off my glove under the table and fiddled with my ring.

I took it off for closer examination, keeping preoccupied, when suddenly the English speech around me turned into a gruff language I did not understand. What happened to being able to understand the Common Tongue?

I remembered the book of magic talking about how the ring I beared could be used for translation. I shoved the mithril band back on my finger and everything became clear and English again. Thank goodness.

I made a mental note not to take it off again as I put my glove back on.

"Do you agree, Merilieth? Should we travel on the Anduin during the next leg of our journey?" Aragorn's question took me by surprise. I looked up and nodded absentmindedly, since that was what we were going to do anyway in the written and movie versions of Tolkien's tale.

"Good. It is agreed, then. We leave in just under a week. Make preparations and say farewell to peace and quiet, for I suspect it shall be a long time before we should have that yet again in our journey, if ever. From now on, our path shall grow ever darker as we near Mordor." Aragorn's grim words set a matching mood in the open and free air. He was right, more than he knew.

* * *

The next several days I spent with Boromir, listening to the stories of his city. Whenever he talked about Minas Tirith and Gondor, a wistful look came upon his face and his eyes would glaze as his voice gave a proud tone to his words, words that spoke of his kin and his friends.

The more time I was with Boromir and his tales, the more I thought of how wrong I was in my character analysis of him back home on Earth. He had seemed like he had something to prove, but now, he didn't just talk about his own accomplishments, he talked about his brother and his friends, Guards of the Citadel, warriors, men who were always by Boromir's side on the battlefield and at home.

We grew closer and closer as he confided more personal stories to me, things that he never would've to any others of the Company. Our time together had deepened the bonds of trust between us. I hoped that our friendship would not change him taking the Ring. One day, he even told me about a girl he had met as a teenager. It was uncharacteristic of him, and it was the moment I decided to stop being such a Mary Sue. I was changing Boromir's entire personality to confide in me, who had been for so long lying to him about everything. Oops.

"Her name was Gwenyth. She had a rather homely face and short cut hair, and her figure was not extremely special. She was neither rich nor poor, but average in every way." I looked at Boromir, surprised at his sudden personal openness. "She listened to me when I was but a lad and we were great friends, and I think I did love her. However, my father made me a captain of Gondor's forces not long after we had spent a while together almost every day, and I did not see her as much. She remains unwed."

"Does she wait for you?" I asked, gossipy urges surfacing like bubbles in the ocean. I tried to pop them before they turned me into a full-out Valley Girl.

"I do not know. Ten years passed before I left for the Council in Rivendell. We barely saw each other due to continued attacks from Mordor."

I nodded.

We walked in the wood while we talked, the leaves and soil soft under our feet. Even Boromir made no sound with his heavy and booted feet on the tender and dry path.

We came upon the pavilion where all of us slept during nights. All were preparing for our journey upon the Anduin. Earlier, Celeborn and Galadriel had supplied us with boats, and had given us the day to prepare, for if we stayed longer, we would not have had the heart to leave the fair trees of Lothlórien. I already didn't have the heart to leave, but one look at Frodo reminded me that the hardship I would likely go through would be nothing compared to his. After all, this was his journey, and not the journey of a girl inserted into Middle-Earth by some cruel, bad writer from America. I was just along for the ride.

Legolas and Gimli came into the pavilion as I packed my light amount of supplies. I had returned the magic book and only had Merilieth's journal, my phone, and the Return of the King. I hid all three under lembas bread Galadriel had given us, a cram-like substance that would sustain a man for a day on only a piece, and sweet and long-lasting. All-natural, too. Man, would this be great for dieters back home!

Gimli walked by with his elven companion and I smiled at the two of them. They had unwittingly become great friends in Lórien, and all in the Fellowship were not only glad to see it, but relieved. Their quarrels had been quite troublesome, not to mention annoying, on the road.

"Gimli, I should have thought you happy to leave these elven woods. Why so grim? Surely you have not come to _like_ a dwelling of _elves_?" Gimli snorted.

"No, lass, I do not want to leave Lothlórien. It is fair and peaceful here, and the weariness of my heart seems to have gone away. But its beauty is nothing as to the beauty of the Lady." I stared at him, dumbfounded by his confession. The hobbits nearby chortled, and Pippin had to take a couple of moments to regain his composure. Before that, though, he had stared, slack-jawed, at the dwarf in utter shock.

"Pippin, if you do not close your mouth, you shall catch flies!" Merry exclaimed merrily. "If you are so hungry as to eat flies, I think the elves would not begrudge you a meal." Hobbits and their teasing were so adorable. I stood up and made it seem as if I were busy with my pack and adjusting items, but kept an ear on the ironic conversation.

"Flies? I am human. Spiders eat flies, Merry." Pippin blushed and tried to hide it with jesting words.

"In the forests of Mirkwood, there are giant spiders who eat whatever flesh they get their pincers on. Be wary of spiders, Pippin." Legolas said as a slight warning of danger to the hobbit, and meant it. His eyes were serious.

"Oh, no, Mister Legolas, please don't remind us here in this nice place about giant spiders. Just the little ones are mighty horrible. Though, I can never bring myself to kill one. They don't harm me, and whatnot," Sam said.

I sighed shakily, unnoticed as I smiled slightly to myself.

"_Compose yourself, mortal. You do not have very good control over your emotions. But of course. What did I expect from a human_?" My eyes widened at Merilieth's voice and she sighed. She hadn't talked or said anything for all of our stay at Lothlórien.

"_I have a_ name_, you know_," I snapped back.

"_I know, human. You do. It is not a pretty name. "Mortal" sounds better_." I held back a roll of my eyes. "_See? No composure whatsoever. Next time you feel emotional, try breathing deeply instead of doing that abominable gesture with your eyes. You might just have them stay like that forever if you're not careful_."

"_And how would you know? Goody-two-shoes_." Merilieth didn't understand until I thought of a bunch of insulting images of a goody-two-shoes. Not all of the goody-two-shoes in the world were bad, though. This one, this snotty old elf however, was.

Merilieth pointedly ignored me while my attention was drawn back towards the Company.

Aragorn was sharpening his knife with Gimli, who was doing the same to his axe. The hobbits sat off in their own little happy space and smoked their weed or whatever and looked blissful, with full stomachs and clean faces. Frodo, though, looked the happiest. Here in Lothlórien, the Ring was not so heavy on his mind, body, or soul. Boromir looked on the hobbits with a forced casual-looking smile. No one else seemed to notice his eyes drifting towards Frodo, and the Ring under the Perian's shirt.

I muttered to myself, worried for the Man of Gondor and his Ring-influenced mind.

I looked at the ground between my feet, still muttering.

"Boromir...Ring...starting..." My muttering got the attention of Legolas.

"Why do you mutter?" He asked, sitting besides me. He had walked over from somewhere behind me, so I did not notice his closeness before.

"I mutter when I think."

"You mutter quite a bit." The elf smirked.

"That is not the truth."

"You sleep, do you not? When you sit in your elvish trance, you tend to mutter." I blushed. "And often liquid streams from your mouth."

I huffed at his tease and scowled at his smug face.

"What _do_ you mutter about?" Legolas asked, more serious than before.

"I _mutter_ about fate, Legolas. What else is there to _mutter_ about in the peace of Lórien?"

At the mention of fate, Legolas' face clouded over, and his grey eyes turned stormy.

"Do you still not favor the fact that I could not tell you about Gandalf's fall?" I hissed. "For all of the years that you have lived, it seems you have not gained any wisdom." I would not put up with Legolas' moodiness anymore. Step one of unbecoming a Mary Sue: not fall in love with Legolas. After all, the first step in anything is always the hardest.

Legolas tilted his pointy chin up in response, and his stubbornness prevailed over reason.

And here I was thinking _dwarves_ were the most stubborn of the races.

* * *

The next morning, we went to the boats on the banks of the Silverlode that Galadriel and Celeborn had been kind enough to give us. Their long, white forms were delicate, but we were assured that they would be very sturdy. Hopefully. What a way to go: drowning. I would rather have been swept off of a ledge by a Balrog. Less humiliating, and whatnot.

The elves of Lothlórien gave all of us hooded cloaks, that were neither the grey of the stones, nor the blue of the water, nor the green of the land, fastened with a green brooch in the shape of a leaf, with veins of silver. These cloaks, the elves explained, were a great honor to give, for the Lady and her handmaidens themselves had woven them, and had never let outsiders wear their cloth.

We piled ourselves and our scant belongings into the boats. Legolas, Gimli, and I were in one boat; Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam in another; and Boromir, Pippin, and Merry were in the last boat. Aragorn, Legolas, and Boromir rowed, and though I insisted upon rowing part of the time, Legolas staunchly refused.

And so we went down the icy-cold waters, slowly but steadily. A while later, an elegant ship drew up, carrying Galadriel and Celeborn. Aragorn stayed his boat, and the swan-shaped-ship drew up to us.

"Though you have been our guests," said Celeborn, "you have not yet eaten with us, and we bid you, therefore, to a parting feast, here between the flowing waters that will bear you far from Lórien."

And so we ate and drank in quiet and peace with the Lord and Lady. Galadriel and Celeborn were ever the symbol of the last true high-elvendom on Middle-Earth, and their beauty and grace was ever more defined. What really showed their elven presence and power, though, was the wisdom in their eyes and the sadness that seemed held back behind a shining aura that was draped over her and Celeborn as if a sign from above.

Elrond was better. I smiled to myself at the thought of Elrond Half-Elven. My heart fluttered and Merilieth scoffed, probably in disgust.

Celeborn totally ruined the mood when we were done feasting with words of warning of the road ahead. He warned of swift and unpleasant waters and of the strange land that was Fangorn. I just kind of zoned out. I was distinctly aware of Galadriel rising and speaking, and I was pretty sure that was important too, so I forced myself back into the real world. The innocent little butterfly I had been studying fluttered off.

She passed around a cup that we all drank from, a cup of "farewell" as she had said, probably when I was zoned off.

"We have drunk the cup of parting," she began, "and the shadows fall between us. But before you go, I have brought in my ship gifts which the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim now offer you in memory of Lothlórien."

To Aragorn she gave a sheath, made to fit his sword Anduril. It was overlaid with gems and silver and gold, and honestly was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. She asked if there was anything else he desired, since this would be their last meeting, but Aragorn answered, "Lady, you know all my desire, and long held in keeping the only treasure that I seek. Yet it is not yours to give me, even if you would; and only through darkness shall I come to it."

"Yet maybe this will lighten your heart, for it was left in my care to be given to you, should you pass through this land," said the Lady of the Wood. She took out a stone of a clear green, set in a silver brooch wrought in the likeness of an eagle with its wings outspread. "This stone I gave to Celebrian my daughter, and she to hers; and now it comes to you as a token of hope. In this hour take the name that was foretold for you, Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elendil."

He thanked her and pinned the brooch on his chest, and when I looked at him, he seemed more kingly than he ever had before. No more was he just a Ranger laden with many toils; he had begun his transformation into the King of Gondor.

The Lady gave Boromir a belt of gold; to Merry and Pippin small silver belts with clasps of gold, wrought like flowers. Legolas was given a bow like the Galadhrim used, longer and stouter than his own Mirkwood bow, and strung with elf-hair. He was also given a quiver of arrows. To me she gave a sheath for my sword, made of plain grey thick material, but still graceful, with the sheath itself and a braided pattern over it, and at the top of the sheath lay a single green diamond in a golden snowflake much like my ring. She looked at me knowingly.

To Sam she gave a small plain grey wooden box, with a single silver "G" rune on the top. In it, there was earth that would grow no matter where it was sprinkled. The gardener blushed adorably, his slightly-pointed hobbit ears turning a deep shade of red.

She turned next to Gimli. "And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?" said the Lady of the Wood.

"None, Lady," answered the sheepish and embarrassed Dwarf, "it is enough for me to have seen the Lady of the Galadhrim and to have heard her gentle words."

"Hear all ye Elves!" cried Galadriel, delighted and merry. "Let none say again that Dwarves are grasping and ungracious! Yet surely, Gimli son of Gloin, you desire something that I could give? Name it, I bid you! You shall not be the only guest without a gift."

And then Gimli wowed all around him, and Celeborn looked at the Dwarf in blatant surprise. He had asked for a single strand of the Lady's golden locks upon her head. She cut three.

Next she gave Frodo a small crystal phial in which a clear liquid sat. In the phial was the light of Eärendil's star: the light of a Silmaril. "May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out."

* * *

We left Lóthlorien and its boundaries, looking back many a time as the Silverlode carried us out into the world of toil and grief.

* * *

**Author's** **Note:** Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.

I made up Boromir's "girlfriend" back home...*looks around in a paranoid way*...sorrysorrysorry please don't kill me, Tolkien!


	9. Goodbyes

**Author's Note:** Okay, It _has_ been a very long time since I updated. No one hate me, please? Soooooo busy with band and piano and exams... :P How I hate exams...but I'm back. Also, I think my chapters, in order to be more frequently updated, will be about half as long. Well, at least they were monstrous from the start, right? I took _days_ on the end of the chapter, and read a lot of reference material. I think I put across sufficient emotion, so tell me if anyone cries. I'll apologize and yet also be glad that I can write somewhat well. Anywhos, enjoy! :)

(Long-Overdue) Shoutouts:

**LalaithElerrina:** Thanks for all of the constructive input, analysis, and insight! Helped me loads.

**Marine76:** I'm glad you think so!

**lotrjesusfreak:** Good idea! I will definitely think about using it...suspense. ;)

**Kumiko Seph:** Glad to see that you like it so far!

**Lola:** So sorry to disappoint, but I just couldn't disrupt canon...teeheehee I'm too much of a Tolkien fan for that.

Reviews are the letters put into words put into sentences put into my heart.

* * *

Chapter 8: Goodbyes

We were floating on Anduin the Great for a long while, and all the water rushing by soon became a bit of the norm. It wasn't a bad normal, everyday sight, though. The water glittered in the beaming sun, slipping and sloshing under the hulls of our elven canoes. Its powerful flow pushed us along more than the rowers of the boats. Legolas still refused me the oar.

However, something I had extreme trouble getting used to on the river were the bathroom breaks. They were few and far between, and usually it was just me who had to go. Everyone else would wait until late at night, when the sun had already dipped below the horizon, and we stopped on the west bank of the river to rest for the night. I mean, that couldn't have been good for their bladders. Or kidneys, for that matter.

The first night it had been my turn to find the food for the night's meal. I had been sent with Legolas, and from the meaningful looks Aragorn and Legolas were exchanging, it seemed to me that Aragorn had wanted us to make amends.

Often on the journey, we would either glare at each other or just bicker. Several times I had heard Gimli mutter about how I had become much like a dwarf. The irony of this was that the dwarf and elf had been getting along splendidly.

From the nonexistent conversation Legolas and I were having on the hunt, Aragorn's tactics seemed to need to be tinkered with just a little bit.

"Legolas, do you hear anything?" I asked, my elven hearing not picking up anything.

"No, Merilieth." Legolas' tone was annoyed, seeing as this was about the seventh time I had asked in about five minutes.

"_If he heard something, you would too. You are no human with pathetic hearing anymore, mortal_," said a voice in my head, and I huffed, annoyed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Legolas glancing at me, his eyebrows knitted together and the corners of his mouth turned down. Oh. He thought I huffed at him.

"Sorry, Legolas. I did not huff at your harmless comment." I saw him raise an eyebrow and ended up shaking his head, probably not sure what to make of me.

Most people weren't.

The rest of the hunt, the most of what I did consisted of rolling my eyes at Merilieth who chided me for expressing my annoyance with her visibly. The eye-rolling prompted many, many, many scoldings, as was expected. Legolas did all of the hunting, carrying, and preparing for cooking, which Sam did. Well, I made puppy-dog faces at the deer before there was an arrow in its eye...that had to count for something, right? Merilieth assured me that it didn't matter, and that I was a fool for even entertaining the notion. Ahem. Sarcasm, anyone?

More lectures. Merilieth had a budding career as a college professor building up for her.

* * *

The majority of the time floating on the mighty Anduin was spent in silence. However, several times, Gimli and I had quite engaging conversations: I asked if there was anything exciting happening recently in his life, and he continually responded with a patient, "Well, there have been fish swimming upstream against these mighty waters."

I responded with an awkward humming sound of understanding, and winced at my awkwardness when the dwarf turned and could not see my facial expression. There were many of these moments.

Many.

But more often than not, the only sound were the sloshing of the oars and Legolas humming to himself.

Once, I decided to hum as well. Yes, I did hum "Into the West", sung so magnificently by Annie Lennox and composed and written by Howard Shore, Fran Walsh, and Annie Lennox herself. Yeah, I was a geek. So what?

On the high notes, my humming voice made a loud squeaky sound, and I stopped immediately, blushing, as Gimli and Legolas tried to hide their amusement. There was a strong urge coming from my tongue to stick out at them. I controlled the short muscle, but just barely.

I was lectured until nightfall by the voice in my head. It was a _very_ enjoyable day. Not.

* * *

The next morning was passing by ever so slowly when my mind was literally blown. I heard Aragorn say, "The Argonath," and I looked up from an interesting knot in the canoe's wood.

Surely enough, the statues of Aragorn's ancestors stood high and mighty, their grim and foreboding faces forever set in stone. My jaw had dropped many times during the last several months, and dropped very low.

But never had I looked up so high, my eyes immovably attached to the sky-scraping likenesses of Anarion and Isildur, Elendil's sons and heirs. Their threatening and warning postures set a chill to my spine, and I wondered at the might of Gondor. Their outstretched hands towered far over us, and when our boat passed under one hand, the purpose of the statues was fulfilled: I was intimidated.

We passed by all too quickly, and I wished I had the ability to take out my Blackberry and snap some pictures, if it would not freak out my companions.

But then I decided; whatever. I was in the back anyway. I took my phone out subtly, and was able to get some magnificent angles of their faces and sheer size.

And then the moment I had been waiting years, it seemed, for: after many days on Anduin the Great, we finally stopped on the banks of the lake Nen Hithoel, for more than just sleep, and came to set up camp some ways into the forest that rested on the very shore and stretched far away from the path of the winding water.

You know, I never got over how many trees there were in Middle-Earth. It was like all of the trees we cut down in Earth got planted here, and voila! you have woods. I liked the change, though. I wondered if there was a rainforest in Middle-Earth that Tolkien never mentioned. From my hypothesis, it would be rather large. Amazonian, even. I would have to ask Aragorn someday.

Speaking of our leader, he started to voice our route. "We cross the lake at nightfall, hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north." I fought the urge to sigh at how much Aragorn's plans would go amiss in only less than a day.

"Oh yes, just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks. And after that it gets even better," Gimli began, and his sarcastic voice brough no humor to his grim words, "a festering, stinking marshland, far as the eye can see."

Aragorn looked at Gimli and replied with his usual unshaken tone, "That is our road. I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

This set the Dwarf off to muttering, and set me off to held back giggling. Legolas, who stood nearby, gave me an amused glance I caught out of the corner of my eye, and went to speak to Aragorn.

As I sat, the majesty of where I was caught up with me. I was lost in thought and thinking of how I sat in Parth Galen when the name brought me back to the present.

"Where's Frodo?" Merry asked, and ice gripped at my stomach. My lungs constricted, and I cursed at myself for allowing my mind to be distracted. Frodo had left the clearing.

Boromir was not there either. No, he had been gone for a while, like Frodo. Only neither's absence was noticed until it was too late.

Everyone bolted off, in search of the two, a nasty foreboding on their minds. I, however, split from the rest of the Company: I had no urge to fight a band of Uruk-Hai, no urge to go in a futile search for Frodo. I had made up my mind to try and save Boromir, so he could live, and stay with us. I thought of the image in Galadriel's mirror, paused, and carried on. I would take the consequences.

Only, I could not find the place of his final stand. I ran around the woods, breathless, lost, pushing low branches, bushes and obstacles out of my way. My frantic mind tried to slowly analyze anything for familiarity: was this the tree he died against? was this the clearing he made an effort to save Merry and Pippin in.

I ran into Sam.

"Oh, sorry Miss-"

I cut him off and said hurriedly, "Boats. Frodo's there. Go." The hobbit barely gave himself time to look up and smile and nod at me before he ran off.

The Horn of Gondor blew, and I turned my head sharply, pulling a muscle in my neck, and raced towards the faint and distant sound, dismayed that I was so far off. It was too late. I would not be able to save him, but only stand by and watch as Aragorn held his dying form in his arms.

I bolted into an orc-strewn clearing and halted suddenly, seeing the object of my search as I had imagined him. Two men, one holding the other, both on the ground.

Boromir whispered to Aragorn, a hopeless look in his eyes, knowing that this was the end, and his sad eyes brought me back to Gandalf's fall. I could hear screams from then shattering the thick grief of the forest air, Frodo's anguished voice crying out for his long time friend. My head rang with loud and pronounced despair.

He went on, whispering about Frodo, and how he tried to take the Ring, but in both Aragorn's and my eyes, he had redeemed himself with trying to protect Merry and Pippin, like he always did...had always done.

Arrows pierced his chest, becoming visible as I walked up to the two Men of Gondor and knelt besides them, falling to my knees, a dull pain going through my body. Boromir looked over to me, and he whispered softly, fading away, "Will the hobbits be all right?"

I looked pointedly at Aragorn, who closed his eyes briefly, and I nodded to the man, a pent-up flood inside of my tear ducts starting to leak. Oh, why did this always happen? Aragorn then continued trying to persuade Boromir that Gondor would not fall...all noise in the background to me as Boromir's shaking and gasping form lay dying.

I had become so close to this man of Gondor, this man of valor and honor. This man who had been bent by the Ring, but not broken. This man who never lost his standing in my eyes, from when he welcomed me into the Fellowship with more or less open arms, to when he started to feel the terrible presence of the Ring.

And then, his last, loyal words.

"I would have followed you, my brother...my captain...my king." His last breaths, wavering, shuddering, futile. His hand grasping to hold his sword once more. His eyes, glazed over, as his head fell back and his weak body fell limp on the forest floor, lined with dead leaves rustling in the wind, as if Boromir's ghost had come, haunting all of our memories of him.

And his true bravery would only be viewed by two little hobbits he had died shielding, being carried away to death and torture. I sat there in front of Boromir as Aragorn stood shakily, his still-warm, still-bleeding body a mockery of how we failed to find him on time. I could not wrench my flooding eyes from his finally smooth and unworried face.

* * *

**Author's** **Note:** Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	10. Over

**Author's Note:** Wow. Last chapter. Tears, tears at the end of this. Well...not the end. It shall go on, I think. I'm not sure if I will just change the title and keep adding chapters, not change the title and keep adding chapters, or just start a completely new story sequel thingy. What's easier for you guys? Comment and let me know. ;) Enjoy this little, eensie-weensie chapter. :)

**Shout-outs:**

**lotrjesusfreak: **Yeah, I always cry during this scene.

**AmSaja:** Yeah, I love the hobbits in general. They have so much life.

**Megan1997:** Thanks! Glad you like it!

**Fellowship of Avengers: **Thanks for all the reviews, lol. Yeah, I wanted Legolas and Alex to grow apart a little bit, because I'm not sure about their future... ;) And also...perenniath is basically one of the many names for the hobbit race.

Read, review, and hope you liked my shamefully unimportant fanfiction of a much greater tale.

* * *

_And his true bravery would only be viewed by two little hobbits he had died shielding, being carried away to death and torture. I sat there in front of Boromir as Aragorn stood shakily, his still-warm, still-bleeding body a mockery of how we failed to find him on time. I could not wrench my fixed and flooding eyes from his finally smooth and unworried face._

* * *

Chapter 9: Over

I felt a rough hand on my shoulder. "Come on, lass," was heard by my ears, and registered a bit later by my brain. Legolas and Aragorn picked up Boromir's limp body; it was then that I stood, unsure of my footing, and followed. I felt out of it, to say the least: it was as if I were just going through the motions. The motions of putting Boromir in a boat, a boat that would lead him over the mighty Falls of Rauros.

I helped place the Uruk's weapons at Boromir's feet, his enemies below him in might, in bravery, in everything, the falls roaring within earshot. My ears heard neither the ferociously falling water, nor the trickle past the pebbles on the beach. They were straining to hear a sigh, a wavering breath, anything from Boromir. My ears were fixed on Boromir. My eyes were fixed on Boromir.

My mind was fixed on Boromir.

The white boat unstained with his blood sailed off onto the Anduin, heading downstream ever so quickly. It did not take long for it to vanish. However, I would never forget that moment, when the end of the canoe slipped over the Falls, and went on.

I felt another hand on my shoulder. This time it was Aragorn, who was encouraging us to move on, and not let Merry and Pippin suffer at the hands of the Uruk-Hai.

I wanted to scream, "They'll be fine! Why can't we just stay here, why can't we follow Frodo and Sam, why can't we go after Boromir, wake him up, make everything ok?"

I didn't.

I did notice that Legolas did not regard me with a stare like he did not too long ago outside of Moria, but rather shared the same look on his face with Aragorn and Gimli: understanding.

"_Understanding doesn't mean that they like you for not doing anything for Gandalf and Boromir_," said Merilieth, reminding me of my standing. Her voice matched up with a nagging thought of my own.

"_I know_." Merilieth redrew, shocked I didn't reply sarcastically or something, and I ignored her, and instead focused on the situation at hand.

Frodo and Sam: off to Mordor. Gandalf: a little delayed, but showing up soon nonetheless. Boromir: ...dead. Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, and I: well, apparently Aragorn was saying something about that...

"We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death, not while we have strength left." The Dunedain pulled out his knife and strapped it to himself, a steely look in his eye, full of determination. "Leave all that can be spared behind."

_Finally_. I would end up on the Plains of Rohan, coughing and wheezing and throwing up a lung.

I lifted my chin, gritting my teeth. This time, I _wanted_ to mess with the plot and kill every Uruk-Hai that ever plagued this Middle-Earth.

"Let's hunt some orc." Gimli's roar of agreement came from behind me as I ran off after Aragorn all too eagerly. My hand stayed on the hilt of my sword and would not move.

* * *

**Author's** **Note:** Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	11. This is The End

**Author's Note:** Yeah, the title's correct. I bring my meek little fanfic to a close. Is it un-meek to call something meek? Well I do. I figure that the story was waiting to be finished a while ago.

I put lots of references to books and movies alike, so maybe you can catch those. I'm putting more in this chapter. I wanted to continue the story, but it wanted to end. It spoke to me the other day, you know. It was all like, "I'm done."

So, enjoy! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, favorited, viewed, and everything! This is for you all.

**Update: IMPORTANT!**: Yeah, I continued the story. And it sure will not give up on me. No worries, I performed loads of C.P.R! ;)

* * *

Chapter 10: This is the End

I looked at the horizon of Rohan uneasily. As we ran, not only my weariness grew. A sort of queasiness grew in my stomach, and spread evermore.

My companions started to take less and less notice of me, and soon enough I could not understand their speech. It turned from English to Westron, and I started to feel like I was just another used-up fanfiction plot device.

We ran and ran, and soon enough, we stopped. The moon had risen behind the cloaking cover of cloud, and Aragorn could no longer see the Uruk's tracks, and so we rested for the night in the rocky land of the Emyn Muil.

I took the chance to see what exactly was wrong with me.

I punched Aragorn in the stomach with my right hand.

He didn't even look in my general direction as I jumped up and down, my hand bleeding and in pain. How insulting. Why was it bleeding, though? Oh, right. My stupid ring.

I took my glove off and looked at the damage. Were knuckles supposed to turn sideways? I bit back a whimper as I pulled the ring off.

I noticed that the green color of the emerald was fading. What?

As the night went on, I poked and prodded the ring, trying to make it return to its original state.

The ring flashed suddenly as I threw it to the ground, exasperated. None of this made any sense!

_OH._ What was that that Galadriel's book said? I needed to _believe_ in everything for my ring to work. So...what was I not believing in? Middle-Earth?

_"It is whatever your mind can process, mortal. Your mind is overloading from all the grief you gave to Boromir's passing. Trust me, there is not too much space in your brain for much else, even without your pitiful thing you see as mourning. When elves mourn too much they fade. Silly mortals."_

I opened my mouth to argue with Merilieth, and then felt the queasiness in my stomach increase. Well, if only I had done something to help Boromir... But maybe that was the thinking that got me into the mess I was in in the first place. If I wanted to stay in Middle-Earth...possibly stay _alive..._I couldn't afford to feel guilty for things out of my control.

Or I could start making things under my control. That was certainly a start, right?

Right.

* * *

As the night drew on, and the moon started to dip, I gave myself a pep talk, literally. I gave lots of space in between inspirational phrases for Merilieth to step in, but she never did. After all, if I was out of the picture, she would have her body back. That was good for her, but bad for me.

As the sky faded from midnight blue, and shades of violet and a dark red danced along the horizon, I felt the queasiness in my stomach start to go away. It _wasn't_ my fault that Boromir died, _right_? It was Saruman's fault, it was the Ring's fault, it was the fault of the Gift of Men, mortality.

Mortality. Boromir would have died no matter _what_ happened on the Quest, no matter how much Numenorean blood he had in him.

It wasn't my fault.

"Merilieth, come."

My head jerked up in surprise, and I hastily replaced my glove after Aragorn's voice addressed me, when he had not for the last three or so days.

Merilieth sighed. _"So I do _not_ get my body back?"_

I nodded, a smile plastered on my face, and as I ran on, I thought, "_No more. This is the end of my grief. No more deaths."_

The Mirror of Galadriel and what I saw on its reflective surface played back in my mind.

But the future was never really certain.

* * *

**Author's** **Note:** Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


	12. The Running Goes Ever On and On

**Author's Note: **Well, here we are again: Chapter Eleven. Some of my dear readers may have noticed the strange feeling of deja vu, yes? Well, I decided to take my story to a new direction, so... yeah. Also, **To People Who Have Read Previous Chapters Not Recently: **My old chapters have all been tweaked, enough that characters were changed a little to better fit realism. Sorry about the late update, apparently you can't access Fanfiction without wifi. Which is a shame, as I didn't have wifi for a bit of August, but anyway... I have been busy, but before school, before September the 2nd, before tomorrow, I posted this. Enjoy! :)

**Shout-outs:**

**ZabuzasGirl: **...Oops. Sorry for not updating immediately, but...here you are! :/

**Winged-Violoncelle: **I have you to thank for helping me improve all of my fanfiction stories, for helping me to improve this story, for helping me become a better writer in general. I fear that I may not be able to express my entire gratitude, but, such is the nature of the boundaries of language. Thank you for all your helpful reviews. :)

* * *

Chapter 11: The_ Running_ Goes Ever On and On, Forget About the Road!

It was a lot of running that we had to do. A _lot_.

My legs were sore after the first fifteen minutes of a hard and fast pace through the lands of Rohan, and my breathing started to come in wheezy rasps after the first ten. It really made me wonder how my fading-from-Middle-Earth body had been able to run for two days. The world may never know.

And then Aragorn knelt down to the ground, listening. "Riders! Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us!"

I looked out at the plain, its green grass waving, the wind biting us atop of a hill laden with stone, the sky calm and clear, the sun bright and harsh upon our covered skin. I could almost feel the sunburn forming on my face. Stupid fair skin.

Across the plain, coming in our direction, was a company of people with hair the color of golden straw, on horses, wielding a forest of spears, and clad in shining metal, most probably armor. I told Aragorn as much.

"Yes. Three saddles are empty," said Legolas.

"Empty from war and death?" Gimli wondered, sitting his axe upon the ground.

"Do we wait to find out, Aragorn? Or do we go on our way?" Legolas asked. Earlier in the hunt, the Three Hunters had determined that the Uruk-Hai were "thrice twelve hours" ahead of us. You know, when I was figuratively (literally) dying behind them from asphyxiation.

Aragorn stared into the distance, his eyes narrowed, his matted and dirty hair waving in the bitingly cold wind.

"We wait. Our hunt has failed, and I am weary. Perhaps the horsemen have news of the orcs: they come from the end of the Uruk's trail."

I frowned at the shortened dialogue that resembled that of the book, but nevertheless followed the Three Hunters down the hill we stood atop. Followed. I did a lot of that in my time in Middle-Earth.

We sat, wrapping our cloaks around ourselves, and I stared at the grass dancing before me as if it were not sure which way to bend in the harsh wind. The dialogue was like it was in the book, but shortened, paraphrased, as it mostly was in the movies. So, that begged the question: if the canon was split, what would I do in order to uphold it? Or for that matter, destroy canon in order to save a few lives? Especially at Helm's Deep...

I put my right hand on the ground, thinking, and promptly let out a strangled sort of hiss.

"Merilieth?"

I lifted my hand, examining it, and I marveled at how I hadn't remembered that I broke my hand while puzzling over my stupid little ring. There was a fair amount of blood around where my third knuckle should have been, and a disheartening lump that pointed to the left at the same place.

I bit my lip and tried not to wince as Aragorn walked up and removed the glove from my hand.

"An interesting jewel you have there, lassie," noted Gimli, and I frowned as Aragorn nodded.

"How came you by it? Merilieth does not like magic rings. In fact, she hates them with a passion only rivaled by her hate for Sauron and," Legolas paused in his characterization, "Morgoth."

I looked around, swallowed hard, and plopped down on the ground.

"Um...I found it in my shoe when I came to Rivendell," I said, swallowing hard, "but can we get back to my hand, please? It hurts."

So I took off the ring and put it on my left third finger. Aragorn started to fiddle with the knuckle, ignoring my hisses of pain. Dude, I could've been a snake. Sss, preciousss.

The ranger then grabbed my knuckle firmly and yanked it back into place.

I bit down so hard, I heard a piece of my tooth grind off. Of course, that was _after_ I gave out an ear-piercing shriek.

Far off in the distance, the Riders of Rohan seemed to speed up. Oops.

Aragorn paid no mind when Legolas mentioned that to him, but simply wrapped up my hand and clapped me on the back.

"Thank you."

Aragorn simply nodded at my word of thanks.

_"Merilieth?"_ The elf in my head was humming loudly, and it took her a moment to realize that I thought something.

_"What, mortal?"_

_"Why_ were_ you in Rivendell, anyways? From what I gathered, you're a Marchwarden of Lothlórien, right? Why didn't you stay in Lothlorien?"_

_"Ever so perceptive you are, mortal," _she started,_ "I was in Rivendell to show that accursed ring you wear to Lord Elrond."_

_"But...The Lady knew what it was, yes? So why..."_

_"Because Lady Galadriel had not seen a ring like it for many millenia. She thought it to be the last one in existence. She decided to show Elrond. __ And then_ you_appeared. In_ my___ body. It was very inconsiderate of you."_

_"I beg your pardon, Lady Merilieth,"_ I teased. Our conversation ended with a snort from the elf imprisoned in her own skull. I deciced to ignore that and not go into a lecture on her hypocrisy about showing emotions.

My hand, however, wasn't to be ignored. It throbbed with pain, and the knuckle felt as if it were swelling up. It looked that way, too.

Out of the corner of my eye, a certain blond haired prince turned his head to stare at me.

"Your hand-it hurts?"

"No, Legolas. My hisses of pain are just for fun."

Legolas nodded, and turned away, a slight smile dancing across his face for the shadow of a second. I rolled my eyes at his ambiguity.

Before long, the Riders were upon us. They seemed not to be able to see us, what with our cloaks of Lorien that blended in with the natural landscape of Arda. The horses managed not to trample us, which was a nice bonus.

The Riders were tall, their hair shoulder-length and covered with helms. Their armor was blinding in the bright rays of the sun, and their spears looked sharp. And I mean sharp. I shuddered to think of being on the end of one of those spears.

Aragorn suddenly stood, just as the Riders had nearly passed the Three Hunters and me.

"What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"

And as Aragorn called out to the Rohirrim, they turned sharply and quickly, as agile on horseback as they were menacing. They circled around us, spears pointed at our chests. I inched backward, away from the sharp, pointy metal things centered on me.

I tried not to stare at the big, buff guys whose _really_ handsome faces were impartial, looking to one horse, one Rider. Eomer.

His helmet had a long white horsehair plume, streaming in the wind. His face was serious and set, his eyes looking at us with curiosity and distrust. He held himself with confidence. I could not help but notice the royal resemblance between him, Boromir, and Aragorn. I wonder why...

Perfect time to see what canon was to be upheld, especially with all of the spears pointing at us. Anyway, it wasn't as if any of us were surrounded, or odd at all. Nothing odd about two elves, a dwarf, and a man alone on a gigantic plain of Men. Pshaw.

And so I decided to ask, rather foolishly now that I think about it, "Riders, is Lord Theodred among you?"

A sigh escaped from somewhere besides me as all spears and all eyes turned to me.

* * *

**Author's** **Note:** Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction from the Lord of the Rings world, created and trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. The characters, settings, and anything created by J.R.R. Tolkien are not my own and I do not claim ownership to any of them. This is a FanFiction I made with nothing to do with J.R.R. Tolkien, and is for entertainment purposes only: I am not profiting financially from this work, which may or may not be canonical. Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkien for making the world of The Lord of the Rings, for without it, many people would be un-enlightened to the genius of Lord of the Rings and J.R.R. Tolkien and the following FanFiction would never have been made, and I would have no life. Credits from most dialogue and setting to Peter Jackson, one of the best directors ever.


End file.
